


The Fairer Sex

by Scribe32oz



Series: The Fourth Age [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Female Friendship, High Fantasy, Strong Female Characters, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 82,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe32oz/pseuds/Scribe32oz
Summary: On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that being their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn, Melia and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it.





	1. Survivors

Somehow they had escaped.

  
In the midst of utter destruction, they had somehow survived where many of their kindred had not. Allies, who had fought with them, now lay buried and forgotten, their corpses becoming nothing more than sustenance for the bottom feeders on the seabed. They themselves had narrowly escaped such a terrible fate and their own number had been greatly reduced during the exodus from their ruined city. Now there was only a handful where there had been many and the survivors were at a loss over what to do next.

At the time, their imperative had been to escape the rising deluge of water that filled the cavern where their city was sheltered for so many ages. Fleeing the tide of the cold sea that pursued them amidst the destruction of falling rocks and boulder like fragments of crumbling ceiling, they had thought little of what would come once they escaped the immediate peril. However, upon emerging once again to what was relatively steady ground, they discovered that the danger had not passed even though they were for momentarily safe. For so long, their city had protected them. It kept them safe from the outside world and as they sat at the feet of their master whose schemes would have made it possible for them to leave their city and emerge into the world again, it never even occurred to them that he might fail.

Or worse yet, be killed.

But killed hie was and the great plan had failed, the one the Master had assured would return them to existence they knew before the sunlight had filled the cracks of the world with its blinding light. Before the First Age of the Sun, the world had been as a paradise to them, a time where they were filled with the sinful delights of pleasure borne out of pain. When the dark lord Morgoth had ruled the world, they had been at the height of their power. To them, it was a time still spoken of in whispers of awe and reverence. To make the world as it once was, they had served their new master when Morgoth had been banished to the void and the shape of Middle earth changed beyond recognition in the War of Wrath.

  
In the face of the cataclysmic battle that had been fought and the subsequent destruction of Beleriand which took with it Angband and much of Morgoth’s army, they had been driven to hide out of fear. During the war, their value had always been in concealment and subterfuge. They were created as a covert weapon unlike the Balrogs whose purpose was destruction in all its grand chaos. They walked among the enemy, listening and reporting back their observations to their master. When Morgoth had been vanquished, it was easy enough for them to hide and with the Valar more concerned with the Balrogs, firedrakes and other demon spirits fighting openly, it was easy to be forgotten.

With the end of the war, they had bound themselves to a new master and for many ages, they served him well and were contented to remain within the city under the sea. Their new master had also served Morgoth and like them, wished to serve the dark lord again. His plan was audacious to say the least but it would bring Morgoth back to them and there was nothing they would not do to see that accomplished. After waiting for so long, the vassal in that Morgoth would inhabit upon his return was finally conceived and the master’s plan was finally coming to fruition.

It should have worked.

It would have if not for the determination of the she elf and her companions to save her child from the blessing of Morgoth’s spirit. They had underestimated her and were paid dearly for their mistake for the she elf had aided the death of their master and brought down their city upon their heads. The plan lay ruined forever beneath the sea, along with the carcass of their master and the allies who would have helped them usher in a new order if only Morgoth been allowed to inhabit the body of the child slumbering within the she elf’s womb.

After their escape, the survivors banded together, united by their confusion and fear because for the first time in their lives, they had no leader, no one to tell them what to do. Many were prepared to find other enclaves in the dark, to hide again. It might have transpired this way if one of them had not made the suggestion that perhaps what was needed was a new plan, one that they would carry out themselves, without the need of a master to guide their actions or allies upon whom they could rely on. Perhaps they could not bring Morgoth back to Middle earth but they could change it to suit their needs.

Emerging into the sunlight for the first time in eons, they soon learnt how to move safely through this world they had feared for so long. While they traveledsometimes during the day, under guises that ensured no one would accost them, mostly their journey took place by night. It appeared that exodus was not an uncommon thing in Middle earth these days. The Eldar were also leaving the shores of Middle earth. Arda was being left to the race of men and this suited them well for men did not have the sight or the senses to perceive them as the elves did. Even if they did encounter the First Born, they had means of concealing themselves. They were aware of craft that was old even when the Eldar were first awakened at Cuinvienen.

If they had to, they could remain hidden from anyone.

They crossed the Misty Mountains, visited the ruins of Dol Goldur before crossing Mirkwood to take the river into the Sea of Rhun, into the lands that were laid claim to by the folk known to the rest of Middle earth as the Easterlings. Like they had been after Morgoth’s banishment to the void, the Easterlings were similarly displaced. They were a warrior people, bred to fight and relishing victory and battle in all its forms. The enforced peace they had no choice but to endure, thanks to the destruction of Sauron, was a found festering upon their pride. The new arrivals finally found the instrument with which they could secure their place in Middle earth as well as strike a blow of vengeance against the she elf that had ruined everything.

It was an easy enough matter to infiltrate the Easterling ranks with none of the race having the slightest inkling that there were those among them that were not men but something else completely. The new arrivals were swift to consolidate their power and though they did not overtly reveal themselves, they found that the Easterlings were easily manipulated because of their inherent dislike for the Reunified Kingdom. The power of the Easterling had well and truly been broken by the defeat of Sauron. The loss left deep wounds upon their pride that was worsened because of the peace they were forced to accept.

The lord of the Easterlings had begrudgingly entered negotiations with Minas Tirith to establish new lines of trade and commerce so that his people could begin to prosper after so many years of war. Though the idea of peace was abhorrent to the men of the southern lands, the fact remained that without Mordor they were starving. For years, the dark lord had kept them fed by allotting them portions of tributes gathered from other lands subservient to Mordor. The arrangement ensured that the armies of men under his yoke could focus singularly on the business of war.

Unfortunately, with the demise of Sauron, this delicately poised balance had shattered and suddenly, men who had lived all their lives as soldiers were faced with the reality of starvation. So few Easterling resources had been directed towards agriculture and pastoral farming that without Mordor’s aid, the southern lands were quickly descending into poverty. Thus, the need to forge an alliance of some sort with their old enemies was not only a necessary evil but also an urgent imperative. King Elessar, aware of the deteriorating situation had extended the hand of friendship, hoping to bring order to the realm by a gesture of goodwill.

The years following the war had been good ones for Gondor and its surrounding neighbors, a gift of grain was thus offered the Easterlings as an overture of friendship to solidify relations between the former enemies. The Easterlings were proud but like the Corsairs and Wainriders who were driven to make similar agreements, they had little choice but to accept Gondor’s offer of aid. The negotiations had continued over a number of months as both sides were cautious of each other and rightly so. It was no easy thing to shirk years of hostility in order forge something better and while Elessar was willing to make concessions to leave the Easterlings with their dignity, he would not relinquish the sovereignty of Gondor to dictate some terms.

The culmination of all this was a treaty that was historic in every sense of the word. It meant that for the first time since the race of men had emerged from Hildorien, they would stand together as one. Across Middle earth from Rohan to Dol Amroth and Ithilien, the respective leaders of each realm were converging upon the White City for a gathering that would welcome the Easterlings as their neighbors.

Unknown to any of them, not even the Easterlings, they would have some  _unexpected_  guests.


	2. Alliances

The spell was ancient.

The language in which it was recorded was almost as immortal and when spoken, it did not sound like words but rather like music. It was a composition of tribute by those who still remembered the songs of the Ainur before the children of Iluvutar bound themselves to their earthly existence as the Valar. Each line of the spell was lyrical and to hear it recited was no different than hearing a song being sung. The book in which the spell was kept was an heirloom that time had allowed to be forgotten. It was a relic of the past; believed to have been a possession of an ancestor who claimed to be of elvish descent. For years it had languish in the treasury of Dol Amroth, collecting dust and forgotten by those who mattered and would have been doomed to that oblivion if not for its discovery by the first daughter of Dol Amroth, Lothiriel.

There were those who said that she was the fairest in the land, save the Queen of Gondor herself. The daughter of Prince Imrahil, ruler of Dol Amroth, she was known to be a great beauty with long dark hair and gold flecked eyes that sparkled with each change of mood. Many who had seen her were smitten but so far, the lady remained unmarried though not to lack of offers. As she grew further into womanhood, whispers at the court of Dol Amroth spoke of certain eccentricities in her character that the Prince was trying hard to keep silence. Lothiriel was believed to be preoccupied with magic and was known to cast spells. She had no wish to marry despite Imrahil’s best efforts to introduce suitors that would meet her favor.

However, it was also spoken of in whispers, that the Prince’s patience was wearing thin and he would soon exercise his right as her father to make the choice for her if she would not choose herself. In truth, he could have married her off as early as he wished but Imrahil loved his daughter, he wished her to find a mate that would please her, just as he had done when he took her mother’s hand in marriage. Unfortunately, it became apparent that she would not wed unless forced into it and her devotion to magic was disconcerting to her father because it did not abate with time, but rather deepened.

In an age where Sauron’s evil was finally vanquished and the elves were departing swiftly into legend, the practice of magic was not favored in the eyes of men. The people of the Reunified Kingdom had endured their fill of magic, sorcerers and the dark arts. They had little patience to stomach it further. Thus it was it was very terribly disturbing for Imrahil to have his own daughter engaging in the study of such arcane knowledge. When she was a child, he had indulged her, assuming that the fascination would fade in time. Erroneously he believed as all fathers faced with an unpleasant truth about a beloved child, that she would outgrow it. Unfortunately, she had not done so. To his dismay, he realized that her fascination had evolved into obsession.

If anything gave Imrahil comfort at this point, it was the fact that as a witch, Lothiriel simply was not very good.

Over the years, he had become accustomed to her failures. Some episodes had been amusing, the others simply embarrassing but very few were actually dangerous although it was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the frequency of the spells going awry. In fact, Imrahil could not even begin to recall if any of her spells had actually transpired as it should instead of mutating into something unexpected that made his groan in chagrin because more often then not, it would require his intervention to repair the damage.

  
As she chanted the words from the spell book that had become something of an oddity in her family’s legacy, a keepsake handed down from generation to generation, with origins were obscure as they were unknown, Lothiriel knew that she had to a succeed in at least one casting. Her father’s patience was almost at and end and Lothiriel was not oblivious to the talk about court that he was actually giving thought to what he had previously considered unthinkable, finding a suitable match for her in marriage.

Somehow she had to convince him that she was in possession of skills that would require the tempering that came with proper instruction. Since the defeat of Nameless One and the establishment of an order of wizards at Isengard by the Grey Pilgrim, Lothiriel had dreamed of going to Isengard to learn how to be a true wizard. Her suggestion to her father that he might let her go to the wizards at Isengard to be instructed had been met with outright refusal, mostly because her father did not believe she was capable of conjuring magic.

Lothiriel sat on the floor in the center of the room. A circle of cord surrounded her, allowing her to focus the energy required for the spell she was casting to remain trapped in one place. Within the circle, or the deosil as it was sometimes known, she laid out the ingredients she would need for her conjuring and continued to read from the book. She knew some of the words by heart and others needed her eyes upon the page to be spoken, nevertheless they spilled form her lips in a strange chant. She did not pause as she recited them, her eyes closed as she attempted to feel some trace of the power she knew was inside her.

She was desperate for this spell to work or else she would be torn away from her home and all she knew to be used as a pawn in her father’s games of alliance. She would not marry against her will but if this failed, she would have no other choice.

As her chanting grew more fevered, she felt her face flushed with heat and suddenly to her surprise, the gradual fluttering she felt in the pit of her stomach became stronger and more insistent, like the flapping wings of a great eagle inside of her. The sensation made her heart soar and suddenly a surge of certainty filled her veins like the rushing of blood. Her breath quickened as her eyes clamped shut and suddenly the room around her disappeared and what she saw after that was not to be described to anyone save herself.

However, while she spoke not of what she saw, its effect upon the room was most marked. The air became frozen inside her circle, moving around her like swirls of smoke. A luster of ice became to form on the floor and on herself but she noticed nothing of the cold for she was too entrapped by the spell to know anything beyond the words she was saying. Within the circle, it was as Eru had breathed a blizzard into air and it circled her like a vortex of ice and cold.

Whether or not it was the chanting of the sudden drop in temperature that was felt by everyone else in the House of Imrahil, it mattered little because the Prince of Dol Amroth was summoned quickly to his daughter’s room. He burst into the confines of her chamber, not requiring permission or any need to announce himself since he was lord and master of her, before coming to a halt at the sight before him. His daughter sat in the middle of the odd circles of magic he had become accustomed to seeing over the years, watching a veritable snowstorm worthy of any that might be found at the peak of Caradhras, presently raging inside her chamber.

"LOTHIRIEL!" He shouted.

Her eyes snapped open in shock for his was the only voice that could return her to herself. As she struggled to maintain her composure at his sudden intrusion, she found her control of the spell slipping and though she struggled desperately to rein the powerful forces she had invoked, she had neither the knowledge of the skill to keep it from being turned inside out. Suddenly, instead of snow and ice, there was smoke, thick yellow clouds of it that gave off the scent that was not unlike the belch from Mount Doom in Mordor. The smell was foul indeed and as her control collapsed completely, so did the limitations she had placed upon the spell within the confinement of the circle of protection.

The yellow smoke spread throughout the room, sending both father and daughter into a fit of coughing when it swept past and around them in its bid to escape the walls confining it. Very soon, similar sounds could be heard beyond the open door of her chambers, from the corridors and the staircase. Imrahil swept aside the odious clouds of smoke and made his way to the window that was slightly ajar, opening it wider so that fresh air might displace the noxious stench.

Lothiriel had stood up shakily, she was partially doubled over from the coughing as she attempted to expel the terrible smoke from her lungs and her nostrils. The smell was truly foul and she realized she would have to scrub intensely to remove it. Unfortunately, as she glanced fearfully over her shoulder to her father, she knew that smelling terribly was the least of her worries. Once he had opened the windows, he had turned to her and the expression on his face was not forgiving. She had not seen him so angry in a long time and braced herself in anticipation of the worst.

"Father, I can explain…..," she made a desperate attempt to account for herself.

"Enough!" Imrahil snapped, cutting her off before she could speak further. "I do not wish to hear your excuses!"

"Father, please," she pleaded, seeing the storm in his eyes and knew with certainty that he was surging down the road she prayed he would not take. "I was trying to help. I thought if I could show you what I was capable of, you would send me to Isengard!"

Imrahil drew a deep breath as if attempting to soothe his own rage from forcing him to act or say anything rashly, "what you were capable of? What were you attempting to do other than to bring about a snow storm within your room and make our home reek like a stable after a year without cleaning!"

"I was trying to change the weather," Lothriel stammered, trying to hide the tears that would only infuriate him if he saw them. He would think she was trying to use them to soften his heart. "I thought if I could change the weather make it winter to spring, then you would see that my magic could be put to good use."

"No more!" He shouted, refusing to listen to her explanations because he had heard them all before and his patience was no longer infinite As a father, he had been indulgent for allowing her to go on as long as she did without recrimination but this could not continue. It was only a matter of time before her efforts to conjure resulted in some mischief that could cause injuries to others or to herself.

"I have allowed you to indulge yourself for far too long against the advice of all our kinsmen and my councilors! You are no longer a child with a peculiar habit, you are a lady of Dol Amroth and it is time you behaved accordingly. I am sorry my dear but you leave me no other alternative, it is time for you to be married, for you to begin your life instead of languishing inside this room with your books of magic, magic I might add, I do not think you capable of mastering. You will hurt only yourself and those around you by your failures and I will not sit by and let it continue."

"Father please!" Lothiriel pleaded. "Do not send me away to be married! I want to go to Isengard, to be a real wizard."

"Real wizards have power," Imrahil replied wearily, his eyes full of sadness at the sorrow in hers. It was very easy for him to bend to her will when he loved her so much but for her sake, he had to cruel to do the best for her. "You have glimmers of it, most likely a residue of our elven past but you are not a wizard and you never will be. I am sorry my daughter, you will not go to Isengard. I will find you a suitor and you will be married. It is time you left this room and see what lies beyond its walls and beyond those books."

"No!" Lothiriel cried out, unable to stop the tears from coming now that the full burden of her fate was pressed against her. "Please father, do not do this. I promise I will not touch another spell book again, I swear that I will be a good daughter. Just do not pawn me off to some noblemen whose only desire for me will be to solidify some alliance. Let my life have more meaning then being the dainty you throw at some lord’s feet."

"I will find someone worthy of you," Imrahil said softly, forcing himself to remain strong but showing her enough of his heart to know that he would never give her to any man who did not deserve her, "I promise."

"Your promises mean nothing!" She wept as she ran past him. "You mean to give me away like one would give away a prized animal. Do not make it sound any more than what it truly is!"

Imrahil could not answer her accusation because she left the room before he could think of an answer. Despite himself, he was shaken by their ugly exchange even more than her failed spell. However, he did not reveal to her that he already had someone in mind to be her husband nor was he lying when he claimed he would find a suitor worthy of her. He  _did_  know someone who was a good and noble and worthy enough for his beloved daughter.

Unfortunately, Eomer was going to be as difficult to convince as Lothiriel.

* * *

Not since the announcement of Eldarion’s birth had Minas Tirith prepared for the celebration of any event with so much pomp and splendor. The signing of the treaty with their former enemies, the Easterlings and the Variags was a great milestone in the reign of King Elessar for it was a long time since Gondor and for that Middle earth, known such unprecedented peace. With the power of Sauron and Mordor broken forever, the Corsairs defeat at Pelagir and the destruction of the Wainriders at the Dead Marshes, the alliance with the Easterlings seemed to be the final act in the bloody wars that had been plagued Gondorians for so long. The mood of peace was infectious, almost as infectious as the hope it brought and while people praised the initiative, they praised their king even more for making it possible.

To celebrate the peace accord, leaders across many kingdoms across Middle earth made their way into the White City. Legolas, Lord of Eden Ardhon, the elven enclave in South Ithilien arrived with his wife, the Lady Melia and at his side as always, was Gimli the dwarf who was also the Lord of Aglarond, better known as the Glittering Caves. A small procession of elves journeyed with them and though it was not meant to be a spectacle as they rode through the streets towards the palace, Gondorians nevertheless turned out to watch. These days, even a glimpse of a passing elf was a rare thing and many knew the time was drawing when the First Born would be gone from Middle earth altogether.

Not long after the procession from Eden Ardhon had disappeared from view; the inhabitants of the White City were soon standing again in the streets. This time, it was the passing of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth that had drawn their interest or more precisely, the presence of his daughter, the lady Lothiriel. She was reputed to be a great beauty by those few who had seen her in the flesh. The lady did not choose to leave Dol Amroth frequently and her presence inspired the curiosity of all those who thought well of the Prince, since he was much favored by Gondor and its king since the Battle of Pelennor. To this end, they were not disappointed as she rode past with her father, for she was almost as fair as the Evenstar, though Lothiriel could not supplant Gondor’s beloved queen in the hearts of her people.

Very soon, the word had traveled throughout Minas Tirith that Lothiriel’s reputation was indeed deserved though they wondered why someone so lovely would appear so terribly sad.

  
The procession of distinguished guests continued throughout the week, with Prince Faramir and his wife, Lady Eowyn entering the White City during this time. Faramir who would always hold a fond place in the hearts of all Gondorians, for they remembered when he had led the forces of Denethor to battle the enemy during the siege of Gondor. His perseverance had kept the hopes of many from descending into despair during the dark hours of their battle to protect the White City and he had prepared the way for the final victory that was achieved with the arrival of the king.

His wife, the Lady Eowyn was almost as revered for she had defeated the Witch King on the fields of Pelennor. To many of a girl child across Gondor and Rohan, the tales of her bravery inspired them to dream of being more than they were. As Eowyn had proved she could be when she took up the sword and slew the beast that killed the good King Theoden.

The last of Gondor’s neighbors to make his entry into the White City was Eomer, King of the Mark and brother of Eowyn. The leader of the Rohirrim entered the city amidst a small contingent of riders, appearing very much the king of the horsemen army. Though Gondorians were used to seeing horses being ridden by their nobles and barebacked by elves, many did not feel comfortable around the animals. Horses were for royalty and those who served them, not for ordinary folk. Still as Eomer and the Rohirrim rode through the city, they looked very impressive indeed on top the saddle of their mounts.

With the arrival of the Eomer, Minas Tirith was allowed an interlude to catch its breath before the next procession of visitors arrived and these would be the ones the inhabitants of the city would view with a good deal of caution despite the occasion. Many still feared the Easterling delegation that would be entering their city in order to sign the treaty with Gondor. This feeling of caution could never truly be brushed aside, not after the siege they had endured when the White City was almost lost.

The night when all his friend were assembled again within the great hall of his palace, was the first time in too long that Aragorn Elessar’s thoughts had not been filled with thoughts of treaties and alliances. It was a respite he was grateful to have as familiar faces he considered family, gathered before him again.

Of Legolas and Gimli, he had seen little since the dwarf spent much time in Legolas’ realm, claiming that the elves had not concept of building anything without a dwarf to offer guidance and Legolas was just busy building his colony in Ithilien. Faramir was also tending to matters at home for Ithilien now that it was fortified against the threat of its eastern neighbors, had suddenly drew the migration of folk from parts of Gondor that had been ravaged during the War of the Ring. He had not seen Eomer for many months, since their encounter with the dark elf Eol who had almost brought about the destruction of Edoras and Imladris.

He had hoped to see his kinsmen by marriage, Elladan and Elrohir but the journey from Imladris was long and the treaty with the Easterlings had little to do with their realm. In truth, he believed the twins were still a little uncertain of leaving Elrond’s city after what had transpired at the hands of Eol. Thranduil as always was unconcerned by the Easterlings after forming his own alliances with the northmen of Mirkwood and Celeborn of East Lorien. With the exception of Legolas, Aragorn sensed that the elves preferred to distance themselves from the affairs of men mostly because they knew that their time in Middle earth was past and someday, perhaps not within his lifetime, they would cross the sea for the Undying Lands and never return.

"My goodness, he has grown!" Eowyn exclaimed as she saw Eldarion in Arwen’s arm. The babe was almost six months old and was clearly showing features from both his parents. In his face, Eowyn saw much of Aragorn but his eyes were clearly an inheritance from his mother.

With all of the gathering yet to arrive for the evening, those present delayed their seating at the table in order to catch up with one another after the months of separation.

"He certainly has," Arwen beamed proudly as she held her son like the greatest triumph in her life. "He has started to make sounds, I am certain he is on the verge of his first word."

"He might be a little young for that," Eowyn remarked, certain that the infant had a little time to grow yet before he could become articulate enough to form spoken word.

"Nonsense," Arwen dismissed the notion and continued to regard her son with delight, "you are not like every other child are you my son? You will speak soon."

"I would not argue with her," Aragorn offered Eowyn a friendly warning with a glint of amusement in his eye, "I have been trying to tell her that for weeks."

"You have no faith in our son. It will serve you right if his first word is  _mother_ ,"" Arwen huffed reproachfully as she strolled over to Ioreth and handed Eldarion to the lady so that he could be put to bed for the evening. Eldarion should have been there already but Arwen could not resist the temptation of showing him off to their friends.

"If you value your skin, you will not debate this further Aragorn," Eowyn chuckled, knowing how tenacious young mothers could be and that was discounting Arwen’s usual stubbornness.

"I think you are right," Aragorn grinned, knowing when to yield the field of battle when the odds were against him.

"You both look well," Eowyn commented. "I am glad to see that Arwen has recovered after that terrible business with Eol."

"She is far stronger than most believe," Aragorn remarked quietly, his voice hardening a little at the memory of Eol and how he had been forced to kill the dark elf to regain the freedom of his lady and of Imladris. "It was us men who suffered most I think during that unpleasantness."

"I do not dispute that," Faramir agreed after returning from the table where he had poured himself and his wife a cup of wine and rejoined the conversation. "Upon returning to Ithilien, it was straight to bed for me to recover from our labours."

"Well being struck by arrows can do that," Aragorn nodded in agreement. "I know I certainly needed a few days in bed after returning home."

"Yes and sometimes in bed, I even slept," Faramir added grinning at his wife wolfishly.

"You are a scoundrel," she retorted with a bemused smile.

"I do not need to know your predilections in the bedchamber, Lord and Lady of Ithilien," Aragorn teased.

"What is this?" Legolas’ voice entered the mix. "You were discussing Faramir and Eowyn’s predilections in the bedchamber?"

"Then we arrived just in time," Gimli chortled gleefully.

"See what you have done?" Eowyn gave her husband a look of mock annoyance. "Damned elvish hearing."

The lord of Eden Ardhon entered the hall with his wife Melia at one side and Gimli at the other. For a few minutes, they were all engaged in happy greetings and embraces at seeing each other again. Aragorn did not realize how much he missed them all until this moment and wished circumstances allowed them to see each other more often. However, they were each beings of destiny, whose stars not always written together though events sometimes transpired that saw their purpose coincide.

"How have you been Legolas?" Aragorn said to his oldest friend.

"I have been well," the elf smiled with genuine warmth that seemed very out of place on Legolas’ usually aloof features. It had taken many years of friendship for Aragorn to see beneath that veneer of elven indifference to know that Legolas felt things deeply. "The building at Eden Ardhon is almost complete. Thanks to our friend," he patted Gimli on the shoulder, "we have created something truly unique in the woods of South Ithilien."

"Arwen, you and Aragorn must come and see it Aragorn," Melia smiled happily at her husband’s side. "You only saw tents and half constructed buildings when you were last there."

"Oh can we Estel?" Arwen asked, her eyes glistening with delight at the prospect. Most of her time was spent within the walls of the palace since the birth of Eldarion that it was nice to travel beyond the borders of Minas Tirith whenever the opportunity arose.

"I do not see why not," Aragorn smiled, not able to refuse beloved Undomiel anything. "Once these proceedings are done with the Easterlings, I think a little respite would be nice."

"It will be an interesting number of days," Faramir remarked. "Other than Melia, I do not think I have ever encountered an Easterling long enough to know them with any depth."

"That is true," Gimli agreed. "It is far different from fighting them in battle, that is for certain."

"I should like you close at hand Melia," Aragorn said to the Lady of Eden Ardhon. "You know your people’s customs and habits far better than I. It would be of great benefit to have your knowledge at the negotiation table."

Melia was rather taken back by the faith the king had placed in her by request and despite the encouraging gleam in Legolas’ eyes, she still stumbled with her response.

"I will aid you in what manner I can," she replied after a brief instant of contemplation, "however, I do warn you, it has been many years since I left my homeland, things may have changed a great deal."

"Only the small things in any culture changes over time," Aragorn replied, believing that she was underestimating her value to him. "The rest remains the same no matter what."

"I think you will be able to contribute much," Arwen declared, offering Melia a smile of confidence and friendship.

"Who is the their leader?" Melia asked, uncomfortable by the attention on her even though she was very flattered by the trust the king had placed in her ability to help him.

"Ulfrain," Aragorn answered. "He claims to be a descendant of Ulfang the Black. He is coming with his general and his queen."

"With his queen?" Melia exclaimed with genuine astonishment. "He is bringing her to Minas Tirith?"

"Is this so surprising?" Legolas asked, noting her expression of amazement.

"Well, it is certainly very unusual," she confessed. "It is not the habit of Easterling women to leave their homes."

"Not even a queen who accompanies her husband on an occasion of importance such as this?" Eowyn asked, having recalled Melia relating to her and Arwen something of the barbaric nature of the Easterling customs regarding their women. Personally, Eowyn could not possibly imagine being cloistered away behind walls, away from the eyes of men for the entirety of her life. It had been bad enough to endure the place women occupied in the scheme of things in Rohan, let alone endure something even more backward than that.

"No," Melia shook her head. "It was not done, at least when I lived among them."

"Much has changed for the Easterlings since Sauron’s defeat," Arwen pointed out to her husband. "They had been forced to adapt many new ways in order to survive. Perhaps this is one of them.’

"That is true," Aragorn could not fault Arwen for her observation. "Though we welcome them as allies and treat them as such, there is not doubt they come to Minas Tirith as supplicants. Their people are starving and they need grain and large quantities of it quickly. It was pride that kept them from opening a dialogue of negotiation before this."

"Is this why you have assembled us all here?" Gimli asked. "In order to salve their pride?’

"If we all stand before the enemy and receive them with open arms, they are more inclined to believe that we are willing to put the past behind us, Master Dwarf," Faramir pointed out.

"They are a proud people," Legolas said agreeing with the lord of Ithilien’s assertion and the general strategy that was being employed to receive their new allies. "We have defeated them. There is no need to break their spirit. Your decision is wise Aragorn, to have us assembled here to show them that they are not merely being accepted by Gondor but by the rest of Middle earth."

"I hope they appreciate it," Aragorn replied, "I do not wish to go to war with them."

"Do you think they are in a position to do that?" Arwen asked, fearful of another war taking Estel away from her. For so many years, they had been kept apart by Sauron and all the darkness that had been extinguished in the culmination of the War of the Ring, Arwen had no wish to see another resurgence of violence that would imperil not merely her husband but all their lands.

"Not for a sustained conflict," Aragorn explained. "However, they are a warrior race and with the situation that they now face at home, this is a terrible blow to their pride. It is necessary for this alliance to be sealed before other factions in Ulfrain’s kingdom consider a military solution to their problem."

"Eomer!" Eowyn’s voice suddenly shattered the sombre discussion with its exuberance.

As they turned to regard Eomer’s arrival, they saw Eowyn had already run into his arms and was exchanging a warm embrace with her brother, the King of the Mark and the leader of the Rohirrim. Though they did not see each other as often as they would like since her marriage to Faramir, Eowyn and Eomer remained close as always and each meeting was always treated like the precious moment that it was.

"Sister," Eomer grinned as he regarded Eowyn, "how does fares the Shield Maiden of Rohan?" he teased.

"No better than the King of the Mark," she returned with a bright smile. In appearance, they were not much different and anyone seeing them together could tell immediately that they were brother and sister. While Eomer’s hair was darker and he seemed older because of his beard, he was only a young man and Eowyn could not help but treat him like the small boy who had shared much of her childhood.

"You have not made me an uncle yet?" He arched his brow at her in mischief.

"And you have not made me a sister in law," she returned just as sharply.

"I think that will be changing soon enough," Aragorn added his voice into the mix as he came to greet Eomer midway. Similar greetings were soon exchanged between the company of friends and it was as though they had never been apart.

  
"Where is Prince Imrahil?" Aragorn asked out loud as they settled into their seats, waiting for the last member of their party to arrive before the first course of the meal could be served.

"I have sent the servants to seek him out," Arwen informed dutifully.

"He is travelling with his daughter is he not?" Faramir asked. "I heard some talk on the way here that the girl is quite a beauty."

"Is this the daughter that he is attempting to marry off?" Legolas asked, giving Eomer a clear look of intent as he spoke.

"Yes," Aragorn grinned, noticing Eomer slink deeper into his chair as the subject reared its head. "I believe so."

"I think it is terrible," Arwen stiffened unhappily, "this business of arranged marriages."

"It is how it is done Arwen," Eowyn replied. "For noblemen, daughters are only good for alliances, little else."

"Has she no choice in the matter?" Arwen asked, staring at Aragorn a little too intently for his comfort.

"It is not a matter of choice," Aragorn volunteered reluctantly, "it is a matter of duty."

"You must remember Arwen," Eowyn explained as best she could, though she did not like how things were herself, "that we do not have long lives as elves do. We have one chance to do it right and on most occasions, very little time to make our selection. If true love is found, that is all well and good but the noble born of men do not have that choice, especially daughters. I cannot tell you how much I feared Theoden marrying me off to that slime Wormtongue during his enchantment by that creature."

"I would have killed him first," Eomer declared and no one at the table believed he was jesting.

Eowyn offered her brother a warm smile as his efforts on her behalf and continued speaking, "fortunately, I was able to make my own choice on a suitable mate for me."

"My wife, the romantic," Faramir retorted at her description of him being her ‘suitable mate’.

"Well the dwarf way is the best," Gimli replied with smug authority. "The lady chooses us and it is far simpler than attempting to understand the workings of the female mind by enduring the whole courting process. She chooses you and that is all there is to it. No fussing about with flowers or tokens of love, any mundane efforts at expressing sentimentality, just a simple direct way of getting through all the rubbish to the heart of the matter. Let her decide and save yourself the grief of trying to understand her. I have found the only thing more unfathomable then elves is the feminine mind."

  
"Melia, you are closer," Arwen spoke up. "Please hurl something at him."

Melia tossed a napkin at the dwarf and giving her queen satisfaction as well as a good reason for laughter around the table when the silken material hit the Gimli on the side of his head.

"Control your wife!" Gimli snorted in Legolas’ direction.

"She was under orders from the queen," the elf grinned before adding his own comment to the subject at hand. "I suppose it is difficult for us elves to understand this custom because immortality ensures that we are with our mates for a long time so it is necessary for us to make our choices sensibly. Eternity can be a terribly long time if you give yourself to someone you cannot stand."

"You know this conversation is somewhat redundant," Eomer spoke up glaring at the faces before him, "since I do not plan on wedding  _anyone_."

"But you have not even met her," Eowyn pointed out. "You might like the girl."

Eomer released a groan of exasperation when suddenly; the chamberlain entered the hall and announced the eminent arrival of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his daughter, Lothiriel. Although Imrahil was not as close to the king as the rest of the company, Aragorn thought deeply of the man who had aided his victory at Pelennor. Imrahil had no reason to trust him when Aragorn arrived in Minas Tirith during the war of the Ring but a genuine love of Gondor had shunted aside his suspicions and allowed him to do what was right. The result had been their valiant defense against the forces of darkness and the forging of a life long respect between the two men.

As a show of respect and regard, all save Aragorn and Arwen rose to their feet when Imrahil and his daughter entered the room. Curiosity filled most of them regarding the girl since the rumors began that Imrahil wished to marry her to Eomer. She glided into the room at her father’s side, clad in a dress of deep scarlet, with her head held low and her eyes even lower. She did not make eye contact with anyone, especially with the one her father had intended for her.

"Imrahil," Aragorn greeted warmly as the prince and his daughter stood before the company. "It is good to see you again."

"And you Sire," Imrahil answered with similar feeling. He was too much of a traditionalist to abandon the formality of addressing his king, no matter how much he considered Aragorn his friend. "May I present to you my daughter, Lothliriel?"

"Please," Aragorn gestured he continued as the girl’s eyes raised at the mention of her name.

As Imrahil made the customary introductions, Arwen noted with amusement, the reaction of the males in the room with her. They were all struck by the loveliness of the young woman as a hint of lust and desire gleamed in all their awed gazes. Arwen felt no jealousy. She had lived long enough to know the folly of that emotion as well as to recognize that their interest was passing. And Lothiriel  _was_  very beautiful. She was easily the fairest maiden Arwen had ever seen among the race of men, no disrespect to either Eowyn or Melia. Yet Lothiriel’s beauty seemed fragile and as she looked up cautiously to meet the eyes of those assembled before her, Arwen saw that the barely concealed anxiety on her face.

The poor child was terrified.

Suddenly the discussion they were just having about daughters being used as pawns in the game of alliances returned to her sharply. Did this girl know that she was brought to Minas Tirith to be wedded? Had she even consented? Arwen glanced at Eomer across the table and saw that he was similarly enamoured by Lothiriel’s beauty but Eomer was not blinded by it. Eowyn had told her of the deep sibling bond between herself and her brother in their youth and how it was Eomer who protected Eowyn from Grima Wormtongue when the counselor had real designs upon his sister. Arwen could not imagine that a brother who would protect his sister so valiantly against the desires of an unwanted suitor would become one himself by taking this girl’s hand in marriage.

"So Lothiriel," Arwen spoke to the girl kindly after they were seated and the first course of the meal was being served. "Is this your first visit to Minas Tirith?"

Lothiriel swallowed thickly, not expecting the queen or anyone else to speak to her during this gathering of friends and family, of which she as neither. "Yes," she nodded after a moment of hesitation. "It is my first time away from Dol Amroth."

"You could not have come at a better time," Aragorn joined in, understanding his wife’s intentions because he could tell that Lothiriel was little overwhelmed by the company. "With the treaty days from the signing, everyone is doing their best to celebrate the peace once it arrives. Imrahil, I assume you will be staying until the celebration is done. We wish to ensure our neighbors feel very welcome."

"I still question the wisdom of extending the Easterlings this hand of friendship," Imrahil admitted, aware that Aragorn was a king that liked honesty from his subjects, not blind obedience and valued his opinion, even if it was in opposition to his own. "I suppose my judgement is tainted by the battles we have fought against them, even before War of the Ring. However, I will curb my tongue and trust your judgement in this."

"Thank you," Aragorn said gratefully. "In my heart, I believe that this is the right thing to do. The race of men must stand united or we will falter. We were never meant to be as scattered or divided as we have become. Our world is changing before our eyes and we must change with it. The Easterlings have only Sauron and Morgoth before him to guide them in the past. They need to know that there is another way to prosper other than by conquest and destruction. Someone must be willing to show them for that to change."

"He makes a strong argument does he not?" Faramir gazed at Imrahil with a little smile, having heard this speech before and was still capable of being moved by the sincerity and hope in Aragorn’s words.

"Yes he does," Imrahil agreed and found himself bending to the will of the king once again.

Leaving her father to talk politics with the king, Lothiriel’s attention shifted across the table to find the face belonging to the one her father had intended her to marry. She had been a little surprised to discover that the King of the Mark was not some leathery faced, old war master that would treat a wife no better than he would treat a horse but instead a young man. He appeared perhaps a little older than her in years but not in appearance or spirit. She tried not to stare but curiosity forced her to look. Eomer was like his sister, with high cheekbones, a hint of bronze to his skin from being too much in the sun and piercing blue eyes that could draw blood if he intended to glare.

Upon their introduction, he had given her a cursory nod and little else, indicating that his interest in her was minimal as he turned away to continue his conversation with the dwarf as if she was not even there. His indifference should have pleased her but instead Lothiriel felt somewhat slighted that she was not worthy of even a word of greeting. Certainly her father had not thought anything about the whole thing but then her father was a man and even she was wise enough to know that they could so obtuse about things. Obviously, she was not to his liking and supposed she ought to feel relieved that the King of Rohan found her unacceptable because it would mean Imrahil would have to find another suitor.

In the scheme of things, it mattered little because she was not remaining in Minas Tirith at the mercy of her father to be handed to any man who cared to make the offer, especially the King of the Mark.

No matter how handsome he was.

* * *

The evening progressed along inevitably, with the courses of the meal eaten and the draughts being served in generous quantities. As the men descended into talk of politics, the quality of draughts and stories of their past with a little more color and exaggeration in the telling, corresponding to the level of spirits ingested. Eowyn noted her brother being a little more restrained in this endeavor and noticed how he stole glances at Lothiriel when he thought no one was paying attention.

The young lady herself had kept to herself, wearing a nervous expression on her face that told everyone she was very unsure of herself. She evoked a feeling of sympathy from anyone that saw anxiety on that face so filled with childlike innocence and beauty. Eowyn noticed Arwen and Melia making some effort to draw the girl out of her shell a little while Eowyn was somewhat concerned about her brother’s feelings on the matter.

In such marriages, it was always the bride that drew everyone’s concern. The groom often painted as an unfeeling monster that would force himself upon a maiden who did not want him. However, for Eomer to refuse Imrahil’s daughter would be an insult that would not only damage their friendship but could harm relations between Rohan and Dol Amroth. Eowyn knew that Imrahil meant a great deal to Eomer. They had fought together at Pelennor and at the Black Gates. Her brother had no wished to slight the man but neither was Eomer likely to enter a marriage with a woman he did not at least feel some emotion towards. Eowyn did not blame him for she wished her brother the same happiness that she herself felt with Faramir.

 

"You should at least talk to her if you are going to sneak glances at her all night," Eowyn remarked as she took the seat next to her brother. Eomer had remained where he was, making no effort to join the others as he considered his predicament.

"I was not," he said hotly, giving his sister a frown of displeasure, mostly because she knew what he was about possibly far better then he himself did.

"She is very beautiful," Eowyn commented, catching a glimpse of Lothiriel whose anxious expression indicated that she wished to be anywhere else but where she was.

"Yes," Eomer nodded imperceptibly, unable to deny that much, "very beautiful."

"She looks very afraid," Eowyn pointed out. "Poor child probably believes she has no choice in this."

"I am not marrying her if she does not wish it," Eomer stated firmly. "I will not marry  _anyone_  against their will."

"Eomer," she looked at him. "We were children of a royal house, we know how things are done. How things have  _always_  been done. I could have just as easily been wedded to Boromir as I could have been to his brother. If circumstances had not altered as they had and if Theoden and Denethor had their way, it might happened that way. As much as we desire to marry for love, most of the time we marry for political advantage. Before you reject this girl outright, you must consider your position as King of the Mark."

"She is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," Eomer confessed and surprised himself by meaning it, "not even the Evenstar can compare but you do not love something so precious by stealing it or holding it to you against its will. She is fair and I do not deny that I am not drawn a little but I do not know her and beauty fades in time. I want more than just a political alliance." he faltered as he struggled to find the words. She was possibly the only person with whom he could confide his inner most thoughts.

"I am more than just King of the Mark, just as you were more than Sister Daughter of Theoden, we were first Eomer and Eowyn and when you chose Faramir, you did so as Eowyn. Why cannot I have the same privilege?" He asked, knowing the answer before she even spoke but feeling compelled to ask the question nonetheless.

"Because you are king and I cannot advise you on how to choose your wife but I sense you like this girl but fear caring for her because she was delivered to you in this manner," Eowyn guessed far more accurately than Eomer thought her capable.

"She was so afraid," Eomer whispered softly, "did you not see it?"

"I saw," Eowyn nodded, "I think we all saw."

"How am I suppose to allay her fears when her being here is not even her decision?" Eomer asked his sister. His entire life had been one trial after another, involving constant against the enemies of Rohan with little opportunity for a private life. The women he knew were mostly tavern maids and serving girls who were willing to share his bed for a night of comfort during is travels. He had very little experience with dealing with the fairer sex other than his relationship with his sister and since Eowyn was never very conventional, she offered poor basis for comparison.

"You must talk to her," Eowyn replied, finding it very comforting that some things remained the same no matter how much time had passed. Her brother was still the same uncertain boy she knew, beneath the veneer of the self-assured King of the Mark and the fearsome warrior he had become since the days of their childhood. "If this thing between you is meant to be, you will both know it. If it is not, then you can in good conscience refuse Imrahil’s wish to see you wed. You can walk away knowing that you made some effort to give his suggestion the benefit of the doubt."

It was sound advice and Eomer was glad that Eowyn was the one to provide it. Since their youth, she had always provided him with good council, even when that advice saw them both treading dangerous ground. He saw no reason to doubt her now.

"I will do as you suggest sister," Eomer said decisively. "Not here or tonight but when the opportunity arises, I will speak to Lothiriel myself."

"Good," she smiled, glad that she had helped to ease her brother’s concern somewhat. Eowyn had a feeling that despite his repugnance to a forced marriage with the lovely Lothiriel, there might be more to his feelings than what he dared to admit. She only hoped that Lothiriel felt the same way.

* * *

If anyone was able to know the contents of Lothiriel’s mind, they would have been surprised to learn that her primary concern was not the fact that she was terrified of being in such vaunted company, but how she would make good her escape from Minas Tirith. The more she tried to convince her father that she would never marry anyone she did not love, the more determined he became that she would do just that. Even though meeting the King of the Mark had sparked her interest more than she liked, Lothiriel was steadfastly clinging to her desire to remain unwed for the time being. She wished to be trained as an acolyte wizard at Isengard and was devoting her energies to seeing that dream become a reality.

She had hoped when arriving at Minas Tirith that she would have opportunity to meet the Istar Pallando that had recently emerged from obscurity in recent months. However, Lothiriel had seen no sign of him and could not ask her father for fear of giving away her plans. As it was, she was certain that her senses had taken leave of her for even considering such at thing but her father had given her little choice but to act. Once the Easterlings had arrived in the city and everyone was too busy concerning themselves with the business of the signing of the treaty, she would be free to act.

"Do you ride Lothiriel?" Arwen asked. Throughout the evening, Arwen had engaged the girl in conversation in an effort to befriend the child and learn her thoughts first hand on how she viewed this betrothal her father wished between her and Eomer.

"A little," Lothiriel confessed. "I have not traveled enough to be very adept."

"Well there are lovely trails to ride here," the queen suggested. "Perhaps you might join me when I ride."

"Join you?" Lothiriel said somewhat shocked by the offer. "I would be honoured."

"It is nothing to feel so honored about," Arwen replied warmly, "just a ride and I would enjoy the company. Besides, I think that perhaps we overwhelm you a little here."

Lothiriel let out a sigh and nodded, "I am a little shaken by all this. It has happened very suddenly."

"Do you wish to be married?" Melia asked bluntly, finding this girl’s situation too much like her own. Melia had been forced to flee the Sunlands for fear of being forced into a marriage that was not her choosing by her family. Too much about Lothiriel’s situation bore similarities to her own experiences and she found her heart going out to this girl.

"I am a creature of duty," Lothiriel answered after great hesitation but the question was one no one had asked her so far and so she felt compelled to give some response. "My father desires me to find a husband, I have no choice in the matter."

"That is not the question I asked, "Melia retorted.

"Melia," Arwen interjected, disliking the tone the discussion was taking. "I do not think that it is fair to ask her this."

"It is all right," Lothiriel stayed the queen’s concern. "My father wishes it and so  _I_  wish it."

However, even as she said the words, Melia knew she was lying. She had the same gleam in her eye that Melia remembered from her own betrothal. The same façade of acceptance to quell the fears of those who might suspect her of acting otherwise. Melia had been similarly disposed to projecting such an illusion prior to her escape northwards. She had lulled the suspicions of those around her into a quiet sleep and used their complacency to make good her escape. As much as she knew it would be scandalous for all concerned, Melia could not find it in her heart to give Lothiriel away.

"You are a good daughter," Melia replied finally. "If you have need of  _anything_ , I hope you will come to me while I am here in the White City."

Arwen stared hard at Melia for a moment, attempting to ascertain what the Easterling was attempting to do. Her senses warned her that something was transpiring beneath the skin of all this civility but she could not guess what that could be.

Attempting to change the subject and dispel the tension, Lothiriel quickly spoke up again, "is it true that there is an Istar other than Radagast remaining in Middle earth?"

"Yes," Arwen shook the disquietening thoughts away and regarded the young girl, "he is called Pallando."

"Is he coming to these proceedings?" Lothiriel asked hopefully, wishing to take her case to the Maia herself if necessary. It would spare her the trouble of secret flight if she could see Pallando here in Minas Tirith instead of Isengard.

"Unfortunately, no," Arwen answered. "He has no desire to embroil himself in the politics of this treaty."

"Oh," Lothiriel sighed with open disappointment. "I had hoped to see him."

"Do you know Pallando?" Melia stared at her.

  
"Oh no," Lothiriel answered quickly, "I am aware only aware the Istar by reputation. I have also read all about them and hoped to meet one. I wished I could have met the Grey Pilgrim."

"The Grey Pilgirm?" Melia looked to Arwen. "Is that the one called Gandalf?"

"Yes," Arwen nodded. "You have an interest in wizards?"

  
"They have always fascinated me," Lothiriel replied cautiously, not wishing the queen to know that it was magic where her interest lay, even more than the wizards conjuring such forces.

"Pallando is presently at the court of Thranduil," Melia responded after a moment, "he often keeps company with Legolas’ father."

"Legolas," Lothiriel mused, trying to recall which one of the guests she had been introduced to, went by that name. "Is he the elf? The pretty one?"

Melia who was taking a sip of her wine almost choked at that description while Arwen merely attempted to stifle her sniggers.

"Please," Melia composed herself and regarded the young woman, "do not let him hear you call him that."

"Why?" Lothiriel asked with complete innocence.

"Because the last time someone described him that way, it took almost a full month to convince him that he did no need to grow a beard," Melia replied with a somewhat glazed expression on her face.

"A beard?" Arwen exclaimed. Trying to picture Legolas with stubble was a mind numbing experience, let alone a beard.

"A beard." Melia frowned.


	3. The Easterlings

****What Arwen knew of Far Harad was scant.

There was little reason for the daughter of Elrond to study the race of men who gave their allegiances to Morgoth and following the banishment of the dark lord to the void, to his lieutenant Sauron. The Eldar had learnt long ago that whenever these dark powers chose to bedevil them with some form of mischief, orcs or goblins customarily carried out their bidding. Sauron reserved the armies of men under his sway for the periodic attacks on Gondor and all the descendants of the Westernesse.

For years, Gondor struggled against the Easterling forces that were composed of the Haradrim, the Balchoth Variags and the barbarians known the Wainriders. Intermittent wars throughout the last thousand years kept the Easterlings at bay and ensured that the rest of the western lands did not know the constant battle that had become a way of life for Gondor.

It was due to this sacrifice by Gondor and all her sons, that the Eldar had little reason to contemplate the Easterlings. To the elves, the danger they posed was a human matter since the hearts of men were easily swayed and they made allegiances easily. As the power of the First Born began to fade from Middle earth, the elves withdrew from their affairs, allowing the race to deal with its aberrant offshoots in its own manner. Indeed, until the War of the Ring, there was very little reason to even waste time and effort thinking about these swarthy skinned invaders since it was likely the elves would ever encounter them.

However, the War of the Ring had changed Middle earth significantly and for the first time, the Easterlings warranted some measure of interest from the elves since they had played such a significance role in Sauron’s offensive against his enemies. Unfortunately by this time, all knowledge of the Easterlings and how they came to be was almost non-existent. What was known of them was garnered from soldiers who had engaged them on the field battle. These snippets of information did not however, extend beyond the constraints of warfare and thus almost nothing was known of the Easterling races, their language, their culture or their society.

Melia’s arrival into their lives had shed much needed light on this mystery. Most who saw her had difficulty trying to place what race she belonged to for she resembled neither the dark haired Gondorians nor the fair Rohirrim. In Angmar, they guessed that she was from a distant place but could not name her origins beyond that simple observation. Only those who were well traveled had some inkling of where she had originated. Faramir who had fought the Haradrim even before the siege of Gondor and the Battle of Pelennor claimed that he and those who had fought at his side, had never seen an Easterling woman.

However, it was from Melia that they learnt that battle was a way of life for the peoples of the Easterlings. Morgoth and Sauron drove it into their natures after him. From the moment they had existed as a race, the lessons of the dark lords had been soaked into their skins, willingly or not. They knew only what they had been taught and what they were taught was to embrace destruction and to survive by conquest. Since their entire way of life was forced into this singularity, all other aspects of their culture were duly ignored. Learning was halted, exploration – non-existent, agriculture was considered a weakling’s choice and society was locked in a void of stagnancy. They fed themselves because of tributes and when that was not enough, they conquered those who could. It was a deadly cycle endorsed by Baradur.

But Baradur was no more.

The might that they had known was gone and with the Reunified Kingdom sitting on their borders, filled with seasoned warriors that had battled more then just men, conquest was no longer a certainty. Without Sauron’s power behind them, their strength had waned considerably. Unfortunately, for the Easterlings, time had run out because they were paying the price for their neglected social and economic structure. The price demanded was the unthinkable; an alliance with enemies they had battled since the dawn of their existence in Middle earth.

However, the unthinkable was surmounted because the men of Far Harad were marching into Minas Tirith, led by their own king and queen, a guard of escorts a hundred strong. They entered the city on chariots that were seen only during battle before this day. The Far Harad were cavalrymen by nature and as they rode through the streets of the White City, their weapons of spikes and scimitars were held close. If not for the effect upon their hosts, they would have entered Minas Tirith on their mumakils, instead of horses or on their feet.

The procession made their way through the city, under the deep scrutiny of the Gondorian archers poised covertly on high towers flanking the route taken or by soldiers, hidden in the crowds, disguised as common folk. Despite the overture of peace, Gondor’s war masters were not foolish enough to let down their guard when inviting such a formidable enemy past their gates, even under the banner of peace.

Before they could near the Citadel, the Easterling soldiers were led to barracks built specifically to accommodate them. During the arrangement of this historic meeting, the king of Far Harad was most insistent that he enter the White City with his personal guard at his side. In an effort to show the man that this was a genuine offer of friendship, Aragorn had consented but with a few conditions of his own. As it was, none of Gondor’s military leaders were entirely thrilled with an armed entourage of a former enemy being in the White City, let alone near the Citadel.

Once through the Citadel, the king and his existing entourage journeyed past the High Court and the Place of the Fountain to reach the White Tower from which the banner of Telecontari flew in its proud colours in the breeze. The Easterling delegation was first allowed to refresh themselves after their long journey while the household staff went about the business of preparing the court of Gondor to receive them. In this, Arwen had taken personal charge. As Elrond’s daughter, she had become quite accustomed to this duty, having performed the service on numerous occasions for her father when she prepared the Lord of Imlardis to receive his many visitors.

As customary, the visitors remained in the suite of rooms prepared for them. Compliments were sent back and forth between the two kings but no official meeting would take place until the delegation was presented at court. Banquets and entertainment was prepared and though she was merely directing the preparation, Arwen found it terribly exhausting. When it was all said and done, she found a certain measure of satisfaction in knowing that her labors had come to fruition without incident and that all was in readiness for the historic meeting.

By later afternoon, the guests had rested and all was in readiness to receive them in a ceremony that was as much for their visitors as it was for the people of Middle earth. The lords and ladies of Middle earth were now in their appointed places in the great hall, waiting for the chamberlain to make the announcement that would begin the ceremony that many of them had traveled so far to attend. Since Denethor’s time, the great hall had been shed of its somber mood. To aid with the dimness of the room, new windows had been carved through the stone walls, illuminating its wide aisles and giving greater definition to the carvings on the tall black marble columns that extended toward the ceiling.

Aragorn’s throne sat on the dais at the end of the room. It was carved from marble with an ornate canopy and the figure of the White Tree set in gems behind it. The queen did not possess a throne of her own but a place had been made at his side, carved from marble and gilded with gold. However, it was set apart from the king’s throne by more than an arm’s length.

As she stared at her husband in his kingly garments with the crown of Gondor upon his head, Arwen could not deny how splendidly he wore the mantle of king and how handsome he looked in all his adornment. Whether or not he had seen her affectionate stare, Aragorn nevertheless turned briefly to his wife and offered her a playful wink, reminding her that despite all this fanfare, he was still her Estel.

  
At the foot of the dais, in a less ostentatious seat carved of black marble, the Steward of Gondor also bided his time waiting for the guests to arrive. Arwen stifled a smile as she noted how decidedly uncomfortable Faramir appeared. The man might have been Denethor’s son, but becoming Steward was never a part he had expected to play. Eowyn, who sat in the seats provided for the other leaders of Middle earth, was offering her husband a sympathetic smile, aware of how much he hated to take part in such ritual.

When the chamberlain announced the eminent arrival of the Easterling entourage, Arwen and the rest of the occupants in the hall turned their attention towards the great arched doorway. The doormen on either side of it pulled open the polished wood doors, following a collective breath of anticipation from the gathering awaiting the arrival of the guests. For a few seconds, nothing transpired and the chamberlain glanced nervously over his shoulder when suddenly, instead of the Easterling king and his queen, appeared a troop of dancers. They were clad colorfully and performed a lively dance as they made their way up the red carpet leading to the throne.

It was the first time any of the assembled guests, save Melia, had ever been treated to any aspect of Easterling culture. The women wore veils across their faces and the dance they performed was graceful and fluid, almost elven in their execution. It was a sensual feast of acrobatics and coordination. Exclamations of awe escaped the spectators as they saw the dancers leaping into the air, landing with almost feline perfection. The dancers were adorned in jewelry but it seemed to be a necessary part of the performance. Their clothes were unlike any fashion seen by the Westernesse, with their midriff exposed and the skirts of their garment little more than numerous lengths of soft material trailing from their hips.

The dancers were midway down the hall when they were followed by a small troop of acrobats wielding batons bathed in fire on either end. The acrobats were men and in the performance of their display, Arwen noted that all their limbs seemed to move in perfect synchronicity. She began to understand the technique behind Melia’s style of combat. The Easterlings were smaller in stature then the men of the Westernesse, their limbs were slender and compact instead of muscular, thus requiring deft strikes instead of powerful ones. The acrobats were able to use their legs like they used their hands and as the batons flew about the air, creating spirals of color in mid air, they delighted the audience to no end.

When the dancers had reached the foot of the throne, they bowed graciously to the king and his steward before withdrawing to flanking positions on either side of the carpet. The acrobats followed the same pattern, increasing the anticipation of everyone present at the appearance of the Easterling lord and his lady. Following the entertainers were the Easterling guards dressed in their finest and carrying ceremonial weapons as they marched past the audience, a prelude to the eminent arrival of their king.

Leading them was a general of Far Harad, an imposing man with skin like carved mahogany. His dark eyes surveyed the faces before him, committing them all to memory. He wore a band of animal hide across his forehead. His black hair was short and crinkled tight against his head. He wore a thick cloak of animal hide and carried a spike. At his waist hung the scabbard of a scimitar, whose hilt was made of ivory and carved in the head of an eagle. He bowed briefly before Aragorn because joining his troops who was standing abreast of the carpet, their weapons held against their chest as the chamberlain announced, finally, the arrival of their king.

When he finally made his appearance, the Easterling king was not what anyone had expected, Arwen included.

He was surprisingly young. Arwen estimated that he was perhaps a little older than Faramir for it was difficult to make any comparison against Aragorn whose mortal span was greater than most because he was the Dunedain. When Haradrim king strode into the great hall with his queen following two steps behind, he captured the undivided attention of everyone by his striking appearance. His coloring and hair was like that his general. However, he did not seem to be as aloof and broke into a little smile when he regarded those assembled before him. Upon his shoulders, he wore the cloak of an animal native to his lands for none present had ever seen a beast with an orange pelt mottled with dark spots. The hood of the cloak, which resembled more a headdress was the great cat’s cured head, making its wearer appear almost as fearsome.

Still, as imposing as he was too look at, it was his wife that captured most of the court’s attention.

Arwen had thought Lothiriel was fair but this woman had a different kind of beauty that was far removed from the fragile loveliness that Lothiriel possessed. The eyes of every man in the room were fixed upon her the moment she entered it. With long black hair that shimmered when she moved, her brown eyes of dark amber looked straight ahead, giving little attention to anything else in the room. Her garments would be considered improper anywhere else in Middle earth for her limbs and her midriff was exposed. The skirt of her gown was slit all the way to her hips on either side and she was adorned heavily with jewels where there should have been fabric. She looked sultry indeed with her made up eyes and her reddened lips.

"King Elfrain of Haradrim, Gondor welcomes you," Aragorn spoke, breaking at last the charged silence of the moment.

"We are honored by your invitation King Elessar," Elfrain responded, his words sang with an unfamiliar accent and Arwen supposed the spoken word of the Haradrim instead of their battle cries sounded very different indeed. "May I present to you, my wife, Akallabeth."

"I welcome you lady," Aragorn regarded her for a moment and then added, "Akallabeth - that is a Numorean word."

She did not answer at first, turning instead to her husband for permission. Elfrain nodded slightly and only after this leave was given did she raise her eyes to meet that of Aragorn’s.

"Yes," she answered, her voice soft and meek. "It means downfallen."

Aragorn found the whole notion of the woman needing her husband’s permission to speak rather demeaning and started to understand why Melia had fled from the Sunlands if this was the kind of conduct that was demanded of her by the men of that realm.

"I hope that it is not a literal meaning," he responded kindly.

"In the eyes of our people," Elfrain spoke, "all women are downfallen."

"An interesting position," Aragorn remarked disagreeing completely but the Haradrim’s traditions were their own, he had no right to offer judgement. "I should like to talk more about this."

"Certainly," Elfrain replied graciously.

"This is my wife, Arwen Evenstar," Aragorn extended his hand outward towards Arwen.

Arwen rose to her feet and glided across the dais, her head held high and her eyes unafraid of meeting that of the visiting king. Her gaze upon him was received with a hint of indifference as if he was merely tolerating her audacity for the sake of the peace accord. Arwen wondered what he would say if he knew that she was thinking the same in regard to his reprehensible control over his wife.

Ulfrain stared at her a moment before turning his attention back to Aragorn, "then it is true, your lady is one of the First Born."

"Yes," Aragorn nodded, surprised that such intelligence would be of any interest to the Easterlings. "Arwen is the daughter of Lord Elrond, formerly of Imladris."

"I have never met an elf before," Ufrain said with genuine curiosity, "I should like your leave to speak to your lady about the First Born."

"You may speak to me whenever you choose," Arwen spoke up before Aragorn could answer.

Aragorn lowered his gaze as he smiled, amused at his wife’s strength of will, coming to the conclusion that the next few days were going to be very interesting indeed.

* * *

Following the official introduction of the Easterling king and his queen, the entire party moved into the banquet hall where a lavish meal had been prepared for the all the guests. After Ulfrain had introduced his wife and his war master, General Castigliari, Aragorn had presented the rest of his court, starting with Faramir, as Steward of Gondor before moving on to the rest of the leaders of Middle earth assembled for this gathering. Ulfrain seemed genuinely interested in Arwen and Legolas, being the first elves he had ever met while his wife, Akallabeth, remained silently and spent her time observing those at the banquet table.

"Lady Melia," General Castigliari directed his question at Melia when the evening had worn on and the Haradrim men had come to the conclusion that it was socially acceptable to address the females at the table directly. "You are not of the Westernesse are you?"

Melia supposed at some point in the evening, this observation would be raised and had sufficiently prepared herself for the inevitable questions that would follow. "No, I am from the Sunlands."

"From the Sunlands?" Castigliari exclaimed, drawing the interest of his king and his queen to the subject as all eyes centered upon them, much to Melia’s dislike.

"Yes," Melia nodded. "I am from the Tribe of Bors."

"The Bors," Castigliari nodded contemplatively. "You are a very long way from where you began. Our people have waged war with the Bors for many years."

"I left for reasons of my own," she replied, having no wish to explain the details of her life.

"I am surprised you were permitted to depart," Ulfrain retorted, with a hint of disapproval in his voice that she had dared to break tradition by leaving on her volition it seemed.

"Melia has told us how women are confined to their homes," Legolas spoke up, compelled to defend Melia no matter what the occasion, "it seems rather restrictive, if not somewhat cruel."

"It is for our protection," Akallabeth surprised everyone by countering. "In the days of darkness, when we were forced to live under the rule of the dark lord, his minions would walk among our people. They did many terrible things to our women. It was decided that it was for our protection that we remained hidden from their eyes and from the eyes of all men."

"But you, yourself are here," Eowyn pointed out.

"Yes," Ulfrain answered instead. "My lady is a queen and a queen must take certain risks for her people. It is necessary for Akallabeth to be present during these proceedings but we still observe the custom in our lands."

"As it is your right of course," Aragorn added with a tone of appeasement, before this debate became any livelier than it was. "We do things differently here. Our women are accustomed to speaking at their own discretion and sometimes picking up a sword to defend their homes."

"A woman in a battle?" Ulfrain laughed arrogantly. "Women do no have the sensibility to endure in combat."

From where he was seated, Faramir threw a sidelong glance at Eowyn and warned under his breath, "Eowyn, restrain yourself. They are  _guests_."

Eowyn glared at him through narrowed eyes, "you ask a great deal of me."

"I know," Faramir said quietly, beneath the hearing of the Easterlings. "But knowing your temper, it is for the best that you refrain from making comment."

Eowyn smoldered in her seat and noted the grateful expression Aragorn was offering the Prince of Ithilien for his timely instruction to his wife whose temper Aragorn knew as well as Faramir himself. Fortunately, it appeared that Eomer was not about to let that remark slide out of respect to the women present. It was also an effort to gain some kind of vindication for his sister whose own retort would not be as tactful.

"I beg to differ," Eomer spoke up, "the lady Eowyn fought at the Battle of Pelennor. It was  _she_  who slew the beast of Angmar."

"You were the warrior that killed the Witch King?" Castigliari stared at Eowyn with unmistakable astonishment.

"He was terribly confident that he could not be slain by mortal man," Eowyn shrugged, remembering Faramir’s order and forced herself to respond with civility, "therefore my presence at the battle was fortuitous."

"An amazing story," the general replied with a smile that had a tinge of admiration in it. "It is customary for your women to learn the sword, King Elessar?"

"Not customary," Aragorn answered, "however, we do not prevent them if they wish to learn."

"And do you know sword craft, Queen Arwen?" Ulfrain inquired with distaste by the whole notion of women bearing arms.

"I have learnt in my time," Arwen replied. "One cannot live for as long as I have and not. While the First Born have not warred for many centuries before the last war, we have known our share of troubles from orcs and goblins. It is a necessary skill to have in the absence of warriors."

"Perhaps our own women will surprise us in time," Castigliari commented. "With the world changing as it has in recent years, it is difficult for things to remain as they are in our own lands."

"I cannot see any reason why they should not," Ulfrain interjected. "I personally find it offensive for a woman to fight. Their use should be as child bearers, nothing more. Certainly my queen’s only purpose in the scheme of things is to produce a son for my continued reign."

"My father taught me how to fight," Melia found herself speaking before she could stop herself. How many times had she heard the arrogance of this same argument during her youth? The belief that women were too weak for anything beyond the business of child bearing, as if that were not a laborious task in itself. "He taught me to fight without a weapon and with it."

"She does not lie," Gimli added, disliking the disregard for the fairer sex being displayed. While he was mindful of Easterling customs, the very idea of anyone thinking his Lorin weak or useful only a tool of procreation offended his sensibilities. "I have seen the lady Melia with a crossbow and would pit her skills against any man."

"Your father taught you?" Ulfrain turned a disapproving eye upon her. "I suppose they do things differently in Bors. Perhaps that is why they have been at odds with the rest of the Haradrim for so long."

"Actually," Melia confessed, "the Bors think much the same as you do in regards to their women. However, my father was different. He felt the daughter of Hezare should be capable of defending herself."

"You are Hezare’s daughter?" Ulfrain exclaimed with shock, obviously recognizing the name.

"You know of him?" Legolas asked.

"Yes," Castigliari nodded without hesitation. "The tale of Hezare’s death is of great legend among my people, even though he was considered an enemy."

"He died well," Ulfrain explained for the benefit of those who did not know Easterling culture. "For our people, there can be no greater honor than falling in battle. It was said that during his last battle, he took a dozen men to his death before he finally succumbed."

"A warrior to the last," Imrahil remarked.

"It was what he desired," Melia offered, having come to terms with his death long ago and was somewhat pleased that Hezare had died exactly how he had lived, on his feet with a sword in his hand. "I am grateful to know that he went into the next world with honor."

With that statement, Arwen steered the conversation in another direction, asking Ulfrain to tell them about Far Harad and the Haradrim, sparing Melia any further indignity by having her past discussed as a subject of dinner table conversation. Despite her efforts to accept the Easterlings for what they were, Arwen could not help feeling a wave of dislike regarding their way of life and wondered if they would be equally merciful if it were Gondor who was in need. Arwen was almost certain they would not be. However, Estel’s desire to make them allies would ensure stability in the region and any action that prevented war had Arwen’s full endorsement.

The rest of the evening transpired smoothly with everyone at their best behavior despite the nature of some of Ulfrain’s questions. Castigliari was not as intrusive in his inquiries and while the sense that Arwen drew from the general that the notion of peace was one that was foreign to him, he appeared to be making an honest effort.

Of the queen Akallabeth, Arwen had no sense of anything at all. On several occasions throughout the evening, Arwen had cast her gaze across the table at Legolas, wondering if the elven archer had sensed the same things as she, however Legolas seemed oblivious. Like all the men at the table, the only thing that did not seem beyond his notice was the sinful pleasure of Akallabeth’s effect upon them. Even Aragorn was stealing glimpses of the woman in her scandalous clothing but his interest was the universal reaction of all males when sensing a new female in their presence, whether or not they were men, elf or even a much lower order of animal.

She should have felt jealousy but Arwen had too much faith in Aragorn’s love to doubt his faithfulness to her and she was not so insecure in character, to feel jealousy over what was merely an atypical male response. Still, her instincts would not relax in their disquiet because she sensed something from the woman that put her on guard. It was foolishness of course. Akallabeth was powerless by her own culture to visit any mischief upon Arwen and her own. Ulfrain clearly did not approve of allowing her to act upon her own accord despite the furtive connection her eyes made with many parties at the table during the course of the evening.

And yet when Arwen looked at Akallabeth there was this unsettling feeling rising from the pit of her stomach that she could not explain. It was foolishness, she knew but Arwen could not help it. One could not live for three thousand years and be unable to recognize when something was amiss. Yet, Arwen could not sense a single thing in Akallabeth’s company, that might give evidence to her suspicions. In fact, Arwen sensed nothing at all about Akallabeth.

It was almost as if she was not even there.

* * *

It was well into the night when the revelers finally ended their feasting and retired to their rooms. Scattering across the expanse of the palace, Ulfrain and his queen were escorted to their chambers by one of their own guards. Neither spoke as they stepped out of the hallway into the seclusion of their private quarters. The guard bade them a hospitable goodnight before withdrawing himself, ensuring that his king and queen had everything they required for the evening. The guard took his sentry position outside their door and would remain there to ensure the protection of his sovereign. In an alien land, in the court of a foreign king, Castigliari had insisted on this measure of protection for his king and queen.

"That was tedious," Ulfrain stated the instant he and his queen were alone in their chambers.

"I agree," Akallabeth remarked removing the jewelry that adorned her body. "However, it served its purpose."

"I do not see how," Ulfrain grumbled, shedding his cloak like the animal whose pelt he was wearing might shed its summer coat. The garment pooled on the floor behind him before he went to a chair and lowered himself into it.

"One must study the enemy if one is to strike," Akallabeth replied. "Your race’s natural disbelief that the female of the species is a weaker animal is a dangerous flaw. You discount them as enemies and are taken by surprise when you learn that they are quite capable of defending themselves and their lands. It was necessary that I observe all of our enemies, not merely the kings and lord of Middle earth but also their women."

"What concern are they to us once your scheme comes to fruition?" Ulfrain declared slighted by her tone.

"Never discount an enemy," Akallabeth said turning to him. "You may think that because the odds are great and because they are women, they will not be able to fight. Me and mine will not take such risk, nor will we discount the danger that the Evenstar poses to us. We have done so before to the utter ruin of everything we held dear. We will not do so again."

"This is different," Ulfrain started to say, fearing a little the sparkle of bald hatred in her eyes. Long before this notion of sealing their alliance in this ceremony of peace was conceived by the Gondorian king, Ulfrain had already sealed his people’s fate in a secret agreement with the new ally presently occupying the room with him. Not even Castigliari or any of his people had any idea of the bargain he had struck to ensure their freedom.

"No it is not," Akallabeth countered, smoldering fury in each word that escaped her lips. "You have done your part in this endeavor. You have allowed us to enter Minas Tirith undetected. I require nothing further from you but silence until our game is done. By the time the twilight sets upon the first day of the treaty, you will have acquired what even your former master, the underling of Morgoth could not, the taking of the White City."

"And what will you have?" Ulfrain stared at her, feeling a shudder of cold fear following her venomous words.

"The dark," she smiled, "we will have the dark again."

* * *

 

"I think that went well," Aragorn replied as he and Arwen prepared for bed following their return to the royal chambers.

"I suppose," Arwen agreed as she undressed, unaware that this was her husband’s favorite ritual at bedtime.

"You do not think it was so?" Aragorn asked as he draped himself across their bed, watching her in fascination as she prepared to join him. He knew the ritual almost by heart now, the little things she would do before coming into his arms at night. He simply loved watching her shed the mask of queen so that she could come to him as his beloved Undomiel who needed no embellishment to make his heart flutter at the sight of her.

"They are a difficult people to like," she remarked as she ran her brush through her hair before her dressing table. "Their concept of a woman’s place is most barbaric."

"I agree," Aragorn replied sincerely, "unfortunately, there is very little we can do about that. Their customs are their own; I have no right to impose my values upon them. It was difficult enough convincing them that we had no ulterior motive for providing them with the grain to help their people. I am afraid that Sauron’s will upon them has left its mark. It will take many years to change their way of life. I only hope that close ties with the rest of Middle earth in the years to come will open their eyes to other possibilities."

"I noticed yours were very open," she teased as she looked over her shoulder at him, her brow arched in mischief. "Particularly where Akallabeth was concerned."

Aragorn gave his wife a look, "I would not worry if I were you. To admire a beautiful painting does not mean a desire to have possession of it. I would not be a man if I did not notice her. She is very beautiful but somewhat unnaturally so, do you not think?"

Arwen swung around on her stool to face him, "that is a peculiar description, Estel. Why do you say unnaturally?"

"I do not know," Aragorn shrugged because there was something in the back of his mind that wanted to speak but was clouded over and difficult to express into words. "Undomiel, you are the fairest in the land, there is no one in all of Middle earth who would say either wise."

While the flattery was not unwelcome, she did not understand what he was point he was attempting to make. "What about Lothiriel?" She countered,

"She is but a girl in compared to you," he grinned as he moved up along the bed to its edge, so that they were face to face. "I meant that you are truly fair but it is because of your heart that you are loved by all, men and women alike. To know you is to see that the only thing more beautiful than your visage is your soul. It is that I love more than all else."

"You do know how to melt my heart, King Elessar," she smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the lips.

"Only because you do me the same turn with your smile," he said warmly before returning to the point he was making. "I make the distinction because when I see Akallabeth, I see beauty but nothing else beneath it. It as if she were a sculpture made of stone, created to be aesthetically pleasing but little else."

"That may not be by her choice," Arwen pointed out, "she is encouraged to be little else by her people. That is what the men of Harad expect her to be. "

"I suppose," Aragorn remarked as he took her hands and pulled her to him. "I wonder will she remain silent throughout their entire visit here."

  
"Perhaps the time here will open her eyes a little," Arwen remarked as she nestled comfortably in the crook of his arm as they held each other. "Once this business of the treaty is done, we all relax and truly become acquainted with one another."

"I never thought diplomacy could be such hard work," Aragorn sighed, breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling himself become intoxicated by the comfortable warmth of her embrace. "I do not know Elrond managed it for so many years."

"He had his moments," Arwen sighed contently in her husband’s embrace as she felt the same drowsiness pushed gently against her consciousness. "However, when it became too much for him, my father did resort to an ancient form of meditation and relaxation."

"Oh?" Aragorn asked interested. "Do not keep it a secret, if it would help fade the crease in my brow, I would be willing to learn."

Arwen smiled against his and replied, "it is called screaming."

Aragorn lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze before remarking with a lopsided smile, "on second thought, do not trouble yourself. I think I am familiar with that technique."

"I thought you might be," she giggled softly.

"I love you Undomiel," Aragorn replied as he covered her body with his and showed her just how much.

* * *

Lothiriel had spent much of the night wishing she were in any place other than in the banquet hall amongst the kings and lords of Middle earth. Though the conversation throughout the evening was even interesting to her, she had no desire to participate. It was not that she was being unfriendly. It was simply the fact that everyone around her had lived through such great times and she felt rather overwhelmed in their company. Despite herself, she could not deny that her father had been correct. She  _had_  been living inside books and spells for too long.

It seemed everyone at the table had gone out and found their own destinies, instead of waiting for it to unfold before their eyes. Even the ladies had not simply waited in complacence for their life to change. Arwen had lived through times Lothiriel could not even begin to imagine and the queen was not one to let the world pass her by. When her child had been endangered, Arwen Evenstar, Queen of the Reunified Kingdom had ridden off to the far north to defend him with her sword and her life. Lothiriel had not even the courage to leave her room until her father gave her no choice.

When she left the banquet hall, retiring for the evening during the thick of the feasting, she had sneaked away like a frightened child. It was no wonder she was never able to perform the magic she knew she was capable of.

How could she when everything frightened her?

"You should not be wandering about the palace at this time of night unescorted," a voice that was not her father’s stated behind her as she left the hall.

Lothiriel paused in her steps and looked over her shoulder to find Eomer standing behind her in the corridor. Throughout the evening, he had barely said two words to her though he did glance her way occasionally. Lothiriel felt uncomfortable being alone with him because she did felt an unwilling curiosity to know what was behind that intense gaze he seemed to aim in her direction when he thought he was not being observed. As he stood before her, she was suddenly struck by the notion that he was just as uncomfortable as she. It had never occurred to her that he might be just as unwilling as she about this entire situation.

"I do not think I will be in great peril," Lothiriel found her voice, though rather meekly. "This is the palace of the king."

"True," Eomer agreed with a little smile, "but I should like to escort you to your suite nevertheless."

"I do not know whether my father would approve," she replied before frowning inwardly at the fact that Imrahil would most likely be thrilled that his desire for a match between them was beginning to show signs of success. She despised her father when he thought he had won. He could be terribly smug.

"I think we both know what your father would approve," he said sardonically, placing himself at her side and ensuring a respectable gap lay between them.

"Do you want to marry me?" She asked him pointedly as they began walking down the wide corridor.

"I do not know," Eomer offered sincerely because such a direct question deserved an equally direct answer. "I must confess my counselors have been hounding me on this issue for some time now and as king I suppose it is only right that I should marry. A kingdom without an heir is dangerous and my people have known too much war of late for me to let them suffer such uncertainty."

"So you do not want a wife but rather a breeding mare," Lothiriel spoke with more boldness than she thought herself capable.

"If I did, I would not be in the position of risking my friendship with your father because of this whole affair. I would have simply consented to the union he so obviously desires between us and be done with it."

In truth, Eomer was not offended by what she had said but rather surprised that she finally produced enough spine to say it. He had watched her for the past two days and noticed how she tried to fade into the background. He could not imagine a nobleman’s daughter could become so sheltered that she was terrified to speak her mind. Eomer did not imagine Imrahil being a restrictive father. On the contrary, the manner in which the man spoke of his child indicated that he thought highly of Lothiriel and yet she was so lacking in the skills of social interaction, Eomer had to wonder if Imrahil had kept her in some tower for most of her life.

"I apologize," Lothiriel said after a moment, "that was undeserved."

"Consider it forgotten," Eomer replied. "Though you might tell me why he is so insistent that you be married. I have the sense that this is more about you then it is about me finding a queen."

"He thinks I spend too much time hiding behind books," Lothiriel offered, confiding in him because he was as much a victim in this as she was and Lothiriel was starting to feel some empathy towards him. "He wishes to marry me off so my life might begin, so he says."

"That is hardly a crime that deserves you being married off at a moment’s notice," Eomer replied, thinking it would be strange that Imrahil would object to his daughter improving her mind with books. Imrahil was learned himself. If anything, Eomer thought he would encourage it.

"It is the kind of books I read," she added reluctantly.

"Oh?" He raised a brow. "Not those awful things with overt description about intimate relations between men and women?"

Lothiriel’s jaw dropped, "of course not!"

"There," Eomer replied with a smile, "I knew that there was a voice somewhere there."

"There will be curses too if you make that comment again," she returned tautly but broke into a smile of her own a moment later.

"So what then?" Eomer asked. "What kind of books would upset your father so?"

Lothiriel supposed that there was no harm in his knowing. Besides, if he knew the truth then perhaps he would tell Imrahil outright that he would have nothing to do with her and that might put an end to her father’s plans of marrying her off.

"Books of magic," she admitted quietly.

"Magic?" Eomer exclaimed, taken by surprise. Aside from learning that perhaps she was not as vacuous as he initially thought, the girl had personality enough to acquire a very peculiar hobby. No wonder Imrahil was determined to wed her away. Eomer’s friendship with Gandalf the White had made him accustomed to the ways of wizards and to a smaller extent, magic. Though he did not like the invocation of powers he could not see, Gandalf had taught him that it was not to be feared if used wisely. Magic was an untapped part of the natural world that only a select few had access.

"Yes," Lothiriel nodded, fearing the worst by his reaction. "I have always wanted to learn about magic and spells. I suppose you think me an oddity as my father does?"

"Do you practice it?" Eomer asked, ignoring her preconceived notions about his thoughts.

"Not well," she replied, supposing she might as well reveal this to him, since she had told him so much already. No doubt, he was thinking of what he would say to Imrahil about extricating himself from any possibility of a marriage, even as he stood before her. "A good many of my spells have gone awry. My father was most upset."

"I can well understand that," he pointed out, trying to stifle the chuckle that wanted to escape him at the ordeal Imrahil must have endured throughout the years, loving a child with such a mischief making past time. "He was probably beside himself with fear that you might harm yourself or others."

"He did mention that," Lothiriel shrugged. "I suppose that you will tell my father now that you have no wish to marry such a strange maiden?"

"Have you met my sister?" He gave her a look. "After having her spar with me for most of our childhood with the sword, for me strange is a matter of perspective."

"You mean you do not intend to tell my father you wish to abandon the possibility of a marriage between us?" She exclaimed, uncertain whether or not she should be upset with him or impressed at his open mindedness.

"Not until I know you a little better," Eomer replied. "This is our first real conversation. It will take more than this one occasion for me to decide I cannot abide you."

She stared at him, "thank you, I think."

"Lothiriel," he said seriously as they finally reached the door to the suite of rooms occupied by her and her father, "I will not be party to forcing you into anything you do not wish. Your father may desire the marriage but if you do not, then that is all there is to it. He is my friend and I do not relish the insult I would give to him by refusing your hand in marriage but I will if it suits neither of us. You need not fear being forced into it, at least not by me."

Lothiriel found herself captured by that penetrating gaze and believed with all her heart that he meant to keep that promise. He was so unlike what she had expected. Prior to her arrival here, she had built in her mind the illusion that he was some heartless creature that was forcing her into a prison like existence she did not wish. This fantasy had allowed her to feel justified in her decision to flee Minas Tirith, leaving behind all she knew. However, it was not so easy to maintain now that she had met the King of the Mark and discovered that he was not the monster she believed but rather a man with a seemingly kind heart, caught up in this situation as helplessly as she.

"Thank you,’ she spoke after a moment debating these thoughts in her head. "I do not know how it will all turn out King of the Mark, but I will not forget your kindness."

"I am glad," he replied with a smile. "I bid you goodnight lady."

With that, he departed, leaving her to watch him contemplatively. Lothiriel turned away when she could not longer see him, her thoughts had suddenly become a storm of emotions conflicting with one another. She did not know whether or not she could marry Eomer of Rohan but for the first time since her father had told her of his desires, Lothiriel realized something.

Marrying the King of the Mark was still frightening but loving him was not.

*************

The White Tower seemed to gleam like a needle in the sunlight on the day the history treat was to be signed. After so many years of toil and battle, when the folk of Gondor believed that they would never know anything as luxurious as lasting peace, the people of Middle earth were about to enter a union that would bring them to the day when war was merely a distant memory. Despite the importance of the occasion, the actual signing of the treaty was a private affair, with only the leaders of Middle earth in attendance at the great hall. The celebration would come later, when the representatives of the king made the announcement on the wall of the Citadel, to all the people of Minas Tirith.

Throughout the city, all those who would rejoice at this new peace were preparing the eminent celebration with great fervor. It was the same within the walls of the palace as servants went about their duties, happily chatting amongst themselves and looking forward to the celebration that they too would have some opportunity to enjoy once their service was done. For many of them, it was difficult not to be effected by the atmosphere of revelry, not when they still possessed fresh memories of how Minas Tirith had almost fallen to the forces of dark lord in Mordor.

The business of the treaty was a matter for men and as the leaders of Middle earth, assembled in the throne of King Elessar; their ladies busied themselves with other matters. Arwen was not offended because she knew that their absence was a concession made to the Easterling king, who felt that women should not be present in what was wholly a matter for men. Although Aragorn had been prepared to argue the case in her favor, it was Arwen who beseeched him to let the matter pass. After all, she knew her worth to her king and she did not need him to prove it to her by insisting upon her presence when it might jeopardize the peace that he had so carefully cultivated these past months.

  
Eowyn who lived at the court of Rohan for most of her life, was well aware of the demands of politics and did not take this as a slight while Melia had no wish to be anywhere near Ulfrain at all. The Easterling king had far too much interest in how she had come to be so far from the Sunlands then the former Ranger found comfortable. She was more than happy to be excused from the duty of being present.

Thus, Melia and Eowyn spent the day riding, with Nunaur escorting two ladies. Arwen was certain that the march warden of Eden Ardhon’s insistence on joining them had more to do with his curiosity about the White City and the surrounding lands then to providing a suitable escort for two ladies who were capable of fending for themselves. Arwen had wished Lothiriel to accompany them but the young woman was nowhere to be found and Arwen suspected that she was most likely hiding somewhere to escape the talk of impending marriage. Arwen herself, would have like to have joined Eowyn and Melia but she was needed at the palace for there was much to do this day and even the Queen of Gondor had endure the occasional sacrifice.

There would be time enough to celebrate when the treaty was signed.

***************

Aragorn Elessar had much reason to be proud on this day once the ink had soaked into the parchment that made up the papers of the newly formed alliance. As they shook hands and commended themselves at being able to put aside past differences to build a new future, he felt for once the weight of responsibility was not such a terrible burden when this was the end result. Behind closed doors, Ulfrain and he had met, with Faramir, Legolas, Gimli, Imrahil, Eomer and Castigliari bearing witness to they occasion as they each cast their seal upon the scrolls that would return to each of their realms as the proof of their alliance.

"You have been most hospitable Elessar," Ulfrain declared once they had done away with the business at hand and were relaxing around the table where the treaty was signed.

"You are my guest Ulfrain," Aragorn said graciously, "and while you continue to remain in my kingdom, you will be treated as a friend."

"Thank you," Ulfrain bowed his head in gratitude. "I would like to show you a token of my appreciation." He gestured to a servant who had been allowed in the room to replenish goblets and see to the needs of the party present. The young man, one Aragorn knew well, was apparently anticipating Ulfrain’s beckoning and stepped forward promptly. He came forward with a curious looking bottle and several goblets poised on a silver tray.

"This is a spirit of my realm," Ulfrain explained as the serving boy began to pour the amber fluid into the goblets upon reaching the table. "We use it to celebrate important occasions for it is rare indeed."

"Yes," Castigliari added. "It comes from the flower of a plant that blossoms only once in seven years. The plant itself is rare so there are very finite quantities of sektari, that is what we call it, in existence anywhere."

The servant offered the men at the table a goblet each of the sektari once it was poured and Aragorn took a exploratory sniff and found that it had some measure of potency. "A good reason to imbibe it so infrequently."

"I am always eager to try different kinds of spirit," Gimli remarked but did not hold the goblet to his lips, not yet.

Ulfrain noted their hesitation but did not take offense. If anything he had half expected their hesitation. After all, poison was a very old way of removing a political rival and Elessar would have been within his rights to employ a food taster in such a situation. However, to allay the fears of everyone present, despite the mood of supposed goodwill, he raised the goblet to his lips and took a deep swallow. Castigliari followed suit and only when both the Easterlings had lowered their goblets, did the Westernesse of Middle earth partake from their own.

"A very distinct flavor" Faramir remarked after a moment as the fluid warmed his insides.

"Yes," Legolas nodded and his senses were far keener than those present. "It leaves something against the tongue."

"It does take some becoming accustomed to," Castigliari volunteered politely. "This vintage however, does seem a little different from what I have tasted before."

"How so?" Aragorn asked. Despite himself, the king could not deny his healer’s instincts who was curious to know the effects of any concoction, mostly because he had acquired a vast knowledge of herb lore during his time as a Ranger and employed them often when healing the sick or injured.

"If there is fault in it, I cannot taste it," Eomer remarked, draining the goblet because its contents were so pleasing to the taste.

"Yes," Imrahil agreed with a nod, having in his time, experienced a great deal of fine spirits and found none that could compare to the texture of this one. "It is truly magnificent."

Castigliari stared at the men before him and noted that they were enjoying the drink a little too much for his liking. Even the elf, who apparently had little stomach for hard spirits, had downed the contents of his goblet and was reaching for the bottle for more. King Elessar was somewhat dazed but he appeared to have as little restraint as the others when he wrestled the bottle away from the lord of Eden Ardhon and filled his own goblet with almost ravenous need.

"What is going on?" Castigliari turned to Ulfrain in question and saw his king, unaffected by the wine.

Aragorn heard Castiglari’s demand but he could not open his mouth to respond. Suddenly, he felt as if he were trapped in amber, with everything slowing to a snail’s pace around him. Castigliari’s words became slurred in his hearing and he noted Legolas dropping his goblet onto the table. It seemed as if the chalice took a long time to reach the polished wood before it finally landed and rolled onto the floor. Legolas was staggering and his words reached Aragorn’s ears as a muffled sound. He saw Faramir trying lowering his goblet, eyes flaring in understanding before the fog overtook him too. Gimli was trying to stand up from his seated position but could not quite manage it. Eomer had actually succeeded in leaving the table but he did not reach further than that before he was driven to his knees. Imrahil had already given up in defeat.

"What have you done to us?" Aragorn shouted but the sound came out of his mouth in a whisper.

Suddenly, what had appeared to Aragorn as the servant boy he knew since coming to reside in the palace, was no longer a boy at all but rather something else entirely. Whether or not it was because of the wine or some power Aragorn could not discern, the boy’s features seemed to melt away and was usurped by a was a decidedly feminine replacement. It took Aragorn several seconds for him to recognize her.

Akallabeth stood before him, her lips pulled across her face in a cruel smile as she regarded him and the effects of the sektari upon him. When she spoke, her voice was slow but he understood every word of it.

"Now that you are in a better frame of mind to listen," she smiled coldly, "it is time we can discuss our treaty."


	4. Turnabout

Something was wrong.

  
Arwen did not know what exactly prompted this feeling of dread but she could not ignore it. With everything in readiness for the celebration of the treaty, Arwenhad taken a moment to visit Eldarion in the nursery. Once the festivities were set in motion, her presence would be required for most of the night at the side of the king so while there was a moment to spare, she was eager to spend some time with her son. Ioreth was as alway, close at hand when Arwen was not, ensuring the crowned prince of Gondor was never alone, though the nurse did not spoil him. There was no one else in the whole of Gondor whom Arwen had complete confidence in the care of her son, then Ioreth.

Arwen had been sitting in her chair, feeding Eldarion his milk when she was struck by a sensation that immediately raised alarm through her soul. It passed over her like a shadow and froze her heart in her chest. The hand holding Eldarion’s bottle dropped a little, slipping the teat from the child’s mouth. Eldarion expressed himself with a small gurgle of protest. Ioreth who was changing the baby’s sheets in the crib reacted to the sound by lifting her gaze towards the queen and was just as disconcerted by the vacant expression on Arwen’s face.

"My lady," Ioreth called out. "What is the matter?"

Arwen blinked, remembering herself. She swallowed thickly but was unable to dispel the uneasiness that settled over in the last few minutes.

"I do not know," Arwen said quietly, her face showing clearly how disturbed she was. "Something ill swept over me. It was most distressing."

In the time that Ioreth had come to be in the service of the queen as the royal nurse to the crowned prince, she had learnt one thing about elvish senses and that was never to distrust them. Arwen’s connection to her child and her husband was defined by her ability to tell by sense alone, if they were well or unwell. It was not merely a gift of her elven heritage to have such heightened senses but her emotional bonds to her family.

"Are you alright?" Ioreth asked her with concern.

"Yes," Arwen nodded slowly. "I am well but I fear something has happened."

She rose out of her chair and crossed the floor to Ioreth. "I must go to Estel," Arwen replied hastily as she handed Ioreth the babe in her arms. "I must see for myself if he is well."

"I am certain that he is," Ioreth insisted, unable to believe that anything could befall the king within the walls of his Citadel. "No danger can penetrate him here."

"I was once stolen from these very walls," Arwen retorted, recounting all too well how the dark elf Eol had stolen her out of her home during the first week of Eldarion’s life. "After that, I refuse to believe that any place can truly be called impenetrable. I must go see him."

"Of course my lady," the nurse answered, feeling a little of Arwen's anxiety transposed upon her heart as she took Eldarion in her arms. The queen was seldom wrong and if she was fearful then Ioreth knew with utter confidence that it was for good reason.

"Thank you," Arwen replied before striding towards the door. She had almost slipped past Ioreth’s sight when suddenly she halted in her steps and looked over her shoulder at the old woman. "Ioreth, remain here and do not let the prince out of your keeping."

"I would die before I let anything harm him," Ioreth stated with such steel in her voice that Arwen knew she meant it.

Arwen offered Ioreth a slight nod expressing her unspoken appreciation before leaving the nursery behind her. She made her way quickly to the great hall, telling herself that this was nothing but foolishness; she was basing too much on a simple feeling. If she had been fully human, she would accepted that argument as being sound but she was  _not_  human, she was an elf. Perhaps she had chosen to live as mortal but she was still a daughter of the Eldar, descended from the elves of Doriathand it was her birthright that she be blessed with their keen senses, senses that were almost as important to her as sight or smell. Something was amiss; she could feel in her bones.

The question that disturbed most of all however, was whether or not she was too late to stop it.

It did not take her long to reach the large doors that barred the Great Hall from the rest of the palace. Two sentries were in position outside and as Arwen proceeded with every intention of passing them, she was suddenly astonished by the fact that they had quickly moved to obstruct her progress.

"I am sorry your highness," the guard said with apology etched upon his face, clearly unhappy by the duty he was forced to undertake at this moment. "We cannot allow you to pass."

"I have no time for nonsense," she declared sharply. "I will see the king."

"No," the guard stood his ground, his spear and that of his companion, created an effective obstruction before her. "We have been ordered by the king not to let anyone interrupt him during the signing of the treaty."

"I do not care!" Arwen snapped. "I will see him now. You will let me pass immediately!"

"We cannot disobey the king’s orders," the man answered sincerely. "He ordered us not to let anyone interrupt him."

"I am his queen," Arwen returned imperiously, "he will have your heads for this insult upon me. He has never barred me from his presence for longer than before either of you have lived. He will be furious if you do not let me see him."

"My lady," the guard tried to reason with her, "we have our orders."

"Then you will tell him that I am here and wish to see him," Arwen said in a low voice, her temper barely restrained, " _immediately_."

Perhaps shaken by the intensity of her words or the possibility that the king would want to see the queen, the guard decided that it could not hurt to confirm that the orders he had received from King Elessar included Queen Arwen. After all, she was right about never being barred from the king’s presence for any reason since Aragorn Elessar had taken up residence here. The guard himself had felt some reservation when the orders were first given but it was not his lot to question the king in any shape or form.

When he finally relented and disappeared into the hall to inform Aragorn that she was here to see him, Arwen felt her heart pounding in her chest. She could not believe that such orders would include her, without good reason. Nothing had transpired this last day warranted such action. Or had it? She was forced to ask herself the question when she considered his orders more deeply. Her instinct for danger had brought her here. Was this part of it?

She had little time to debate the matter further for the guard return and gestured to his companion to widen the door so that she could pass.

"The king bids you to enter my lady," he answered contritely, wearing an expression of obvious concern about how this would effect his future in the palace.

Arwen said nothing as she entered, even though she knew she was within her rights to be smug. However, she could not be so self-assured when it felt as if she were skirting the periphery of disaster.

Upon entering the hall, she saw the king and the rest of their friends seated around the table that had been placed there for the purpose of signing the treaty. Everyone appeared well enough, except the general Castigliari who had a strange glimmer in his eyes that could have been anxiousness. The others however, seemed relaxed and comfortable as if nothing troubled them. Yet as she advanced further toward them, her senses screamed alert with each step she took.

"Undomiel," Aragorn spoke when she neared him enough. "I had thought you would respect my desire not to be interrupted. I gave those orders to my guards for a reason."

Arwen was stunned by his words and noted that the others were staring at her with just as much disapproval. She tried not to show how shaken she was by this because these were men that she considered more than just friends but almost like family. Legolas’ gaze was indifferent as he stared at her wearing an aloof mask. However, it was Aragorn’s expression that unsettled her most. It was devoid of the warmth that she had known since the moment of their first meeting. Whenever she came into his presence, she would see a sparkle of joy in his eyes told her without doubt she was nothing less than wonderful to him. Now his eyes glared at her as if she was a stranger who meant nothing.

"Even for me Estel?" She asked after composing herself.

"Especially you," he said sternly, "because you are my wife and my queen."

"I thought I was more your love then any of those things," she returned, trying to understand what had happened. She gazed briefly at Ulfrain and saw no answers there, merely derisive amusement.

"Of course you are," he replied automatically however he said them without any true affection but rather an uncomfortable statement of fact. "However, love does not alter the fact that it is time you knew your place. When I issue orders that I am not to be interrupted, I expect that they are followed, even by you."

"As it the place of any queen to obey," Legolas added.

Arwen stared at him in disbelief. This was the elf that only a night ago had argued at the barbarism of treating women like chattel. Legolas’ words as much as Aragorn’s was sending her carefully erected composure spiraling towards panic.

"What has happened to all of you?" She suddenly demanded unable to bear this any further. "What have you done to them?" She aimed that accusation in Ulfrain’sdirection.

"My lady," Aragorn said sharply bringing her gaze back to him, "you forget yourself. You will not speak to my guests in this manner. Nothing has happened to any of us, save that we have been intruded upon by a wife who does not know her place."

"Estel please," Arwen went to him and placed her hand her hand upon his face, "whatever has made you like this, you can fight it. You have the strongest will of any creature I have ever known, you can defeat this thing that has imprisoned your mind."

Aragorn’s eyes widened a second before he shifted his gaze towards his companion at the table. For a brief second, no one responded at all to Arwen’s plea. She was about to speak further when they suddenly shattered the silence of the great hall with riotous laughter. The only one, who did not engage in this amusement was Castigliari but it did not matter, the sound was almost painful in her ears for all the malice behind it. It was not the laughter of amusement but derision.

"Oh Undomiel," Aragorn replied after he composed himself. "You do have a vivid imagination. Tell me Legolas, is this the way with all elven females?"

Legolas smiled and raised his eyes briefly to Arwen, a gleam of dislike surfacing briefly in his eyes before the cold mask fell over him again, "not usually but then Arwen had always been filled with self importance."

"Aragorn, please!" Arwen tried desperately to reach him, her heart filling with indescribable fear because the situation was worse than she possibly imagined. Something had taken over Estel’s mind and for the king to be someone else’s creature was a terrifying thing indeed. "Let me help you. Your mind is not your own. You would not behave the way you have, if it were."

She dropped to her knees before him, taking his hand in her own and holding it against her cheek, hoping perhaps the physical contact might help him break through this enchantment for she could think of no other name for this malaise that had taken his mind. She gazed at his face, desperately searching for any signs of the gentle man who had made love to her the night before and felt anguish when she could see no trace of him.

"Get to your feet," Aragorn’s voice was hard as flint. "You are making a spectacle of yourself, madam."

  
Arwen swallowed thickly, her heart plunging to the depths knowing that wherever Estel was, she could not longer reach him. She stood up shakily and took a step behind her before whirling around to face Ulfrain, her eyes no longer filled with anguish but rather fury.

"I will not allow you to gain control of Middle earth in this manner. This is your doing, I am certain of it. What sits in the throne of Gondor is no longer my husband, he is your creature and until a way is found to lift this terrible veil from the eyes of those present here, I will see to it that they will not be of use to you."

"Undomiel!" Aragorn shouted and forced her attention back to him, away from Ulfrain whose only reaction to her declaration was a triumphant sneer.

"You are unwell," he stated firmly, "I think perhaps it is best that you retire to our chambers so I can deal with you when time permits. In your current state, I think perhaps that it is best that you forgo the festivities this evening. Faramir, Legolas, I would ask you to escort her to our chambers and ensure that she remains there."

Faramir and Legolas stood up from their places at the table and immediately took flanking positions on either side of Arwen.

  
"As you will Aragorn," Faramir replied graciously.

"We will see the lady to her chambers, rest assured," Legolas added, wrapping his fist around her arm.

"Unhand me!" Arwen demanded but his grip was iron.

"Do make this any harder for yourself then it must be Evenstar," Legolas warned as he started to pull her away from Aragorn’s presence.

"I will not let you do this!" Arwen hissed at Ulfrain as her two trusted friends pulled her away from the table.

Ulfrain spoke for the first time and he did so with a clear smile on his face, "it is already done."

As Arwen was forced out of the great hall, with Aragorn watching her departure dispassionately and the others seeming just as oblivious to her predicament, she feared that Ulfrain could be right.

* * *

"This is madness!" Castigliari exclaimed once the queen had been removed from the room.

"I do not see how you can say that after what you just witnessed," Ulfrain said with a satisfied look upon his face. Akallabeth’s plan was transpiring far better than anything he might have imagined. When she had first proposed it, he had been skeptical. However, seeing it at work had altered his opinion considerably. The others at the table were seemingly oblivious to everything that had transpired before them, able to act only when the play required them to. Nothing would escape their lips that were not sanctioned by the puppet master who held their strings.

  
"She knows!" Castigliari declared, unable to hold back any longer the storm of frantic thoughts that had been coursing through his mind when he had first learnt the truth about this entire charade of a treaty. "She will not simply remain in her chambers quietly and allow you to steal her husband’s kingdom. She is an elf! They have special senses."

"Yes that is true," Akallabeth appeared out of the shadows, where she had remained discretely hidden. "She  _did_  know. Damn elvish perception. It took most of my efforts to mask my presence from her, I could not shield him as well."

"If she escapes the Citadel to report what she knows, we will have the entire army of Gondor thirsty for our blood!" Castigliari cried out. "Ulfrain, I have fought for our people longer than you have been alive and what you are doing is wrong! It can only end for us in disaster."

"I thought you said you had him under control," Akallabeth looked at Ulfrain with clear disapproval as she approached Aragorn who was seated listless on his throne, making no reaction to anything being said.

"I do," Ulfrain snapped and stared at Castigliari, "it is for our people that I am doing this. If not, we would have to bow down before the Westernesse like defeated animals! Is that what you want?"

"No!" The general demanded, "I do not want that. I want our people to endure more than anything but the time for war is over. We can neither afford to wage or sustain ourselves while doing it! We do not have the power of Mordor behind us any longer and our people are suffering. All they know how to do is war! I believed in this alliance, Ulfrain! Times change and we must change with it."

"We will be in a better position to change when we are in control," Ulfrain retorted. "I will not have these Gondorians tell us how we should our rule own lands. I will not let them tame us in one of their provinces!"

"That would never have happened!" Castigliari declared and surprised himself by how much he believed it.

"Are you so sure?" Ulfrain countered his argument with just as much intensity. "Can you be truly certain that they would not have use their offering aid to hold us to ransom?"

As much as the Easterling general wanted to deny it, he could not commit himself to doing so with complete sincerity. He  _did_  have doubts. There was a part of him that wish to die like a warrior, not the defeated supplicant of a foreign power. However, as a general who had waged countless battles in his time, he also knew which fights could not be won and he had to accept that this time they were defeated.

"You know I cannot," he turned away as Ulfrain came towards him.

"You have been my friend and that of my father’s Castigliari," Ulfrain said sincerely. "What I have done will ensure that we will survive and also remain ourselves. I never did this with any thought other then that of our people."

"You bargain with a creature of darkness," Castigliari threw gaze at Akallabeth who was watching the proceedings with bored impatience. "I hope you do not damn our people as well as yourself in this agreement."

Ulfrain swallowed thickly and replied, "I suspect it may be too late for me but it will not be for the Haradrim. I need to know that you will stand by me in this."

Castigliari took a deep breath and wrestled with his emotions. Against his better judgement, he knew what he had to do and realized at that instant that he was just as damned as Ulfrain. "I will help you in whatever way I can."

"Thank you old friend," Ulfrain patted him on the shoulder, "I knew I could trust you."

"My trust is the least of your problems," Castigliari raised his eyes to Akallabeth. "The she elf knows that there is something wrong with her husband and she is warrior trained. She will attempt to leave the Citadel to get word to the rest of Gondor’s military that the king has been enchanted."

"No she will not," Akallabeth said coldly and regarded Aragorn with a little smile. The king was motionless in his chair, staring blankly into empty space as she leaned close to his ear and spoke in soft, dulcet ones.

"Aragorn, your wife intends on stealing your son with the aid of her friends, the lady Eowyn and the lady Melia. She intends to spirit him away to her father’s city, where he will be forever beyond your reach. She has been planning this a long time Aragorn, since he was born and since she discovered that she no longer wished to live among the race of men. She was planning to leave tonight, while you were celebrating the signing of the treaty. If you allow her to escape, you will never see your son again."

"No," Aragorn’s lips muttered as his expression shifted from anguish to anger with each word that Akallabeth spoke. "I will not allow it."

"Good," Akallabeth smiled, pleased that the potion she had administered to all of them had worked so splendidly. His mind was open to suggestion and it only required a skilled enchantress to plant the required thoughts in his head. "You know what you must do. You must stop her. You must have your guards confine her to her chambers and bring your son to you, beyond her reach."

"Is that necessary?" Castigliari asked quietly, mesmerized as well as appalled by Akallabeth’s powers all at once.

"Yes," Akallabeth nodded standing upright and pulling away from the king, "she will be so busy trying to reach her son, she will have little time to interfere in our plans. Whatever happens, the Evenstar cannot be allowed to leave the Citadel to speak of what is transpiring here, her or her companions. We will keep them like rats in a cage. By the time, she begins to suspect what it is we are truly up to, it will be too late for her or for Gondor."

* * *

At almost the same time elsewhere, Eowyn, Melia and Nunaur returned to the palace before the festival celebrating the treaty was to commence. It had been a beautiful day beyond the confines of Citadel’s imposing walls and the party had been more than happy to escape it into the country around Minas Tirith even for a few hours. The evening would promise nothing but duty and tradition so it was a pleasing afternoon when the two women could shed their noble titles to simply be themselves.

"You were most a pleasant company Nunaur," Eowyn remarked as they left the royal stables and made their way across the courtyard. "You are certainly a more agreeable march warden then Haldir."

"You have met Haldir of Lorien?" Nunaur asked somewhat surprised and curious as to how the lady of Rohan would know of the march warden."

"Well I met him when he was still Haldir of the Golden Wood," Eowyn answered, recalling with little fondness the encounter. It had been during the quest where she had accompanied Arwen to the Blue Mountains. She had been injured and they had paused at Lothlorien so that she could be tended to. Haldir had called her impetuous when she was determined to be on her feet as soon as possible, instead of lingering at Lothlorien in order to recover. Time had been of the essence during that quest and Eowyn had no intention of being the reason that it was wasted when the stakes had been so high.

"And you do not remember him fondly?" Nunaur guessed. He had met Haldir on occasion and found the elf somewhat arrogant. Apparently, he was  _not_  the only one who noticed this particular trait.

"Not really," Eowyn replied, remembering with some embarrassment how she had told Haldir that if she were not a lady he would be on the floor for his impertinence to her.

"Haldir can be difficult to tolerate," Melia agreed. "However, one simply has to know how to deal with him."

"Well not all of us has a special way with understanding elves that you do," Eowyn gave her a look of sarcasm.

Nunaur chuckled, having enjoyed the witty banter between both women exchanged throughout most of the day. They were indeed spirited creatures both of them although even Melia seemed temperate compared to the fierce flame possessed by the Lady of Ithilien. Having met Eowyn, Nunaur could well imagine her standing face to face with the Witch King of Angmar and slaying him in battle. She certainly demanded respect, even from one who has lived as long as he.

"We will have to hurry," Melia remarked as they neared the entrance to the palace, "the celebration is due to commence shortly."

"As much at the occasion demands celebration, I think I have had my fill of playing the cordial host to these Easterlings," Eowyn sighed.

"You do not like them?" Nunaur guessed by the frown upon her face.

"It is not that I do not like them," she admitted, "it is their ways seems rather barbaric. I never thought I would be consider myself fortunate for being born a woman in Edoras, considering I had to sneak away to fight at Pelennor disguised as one of the Rohirrim."

"The general seems tolerable enough," Melia remarked, unable to deny that he reminded her a little of her father. "He appears open to new ideas."

"Unlike Ulfrain," Eowyn snorted in dislike. "His arrogance leaves a great deal to be desired. Offensive indeed!"

Eowyn of course referred to the remark Ulfrain had made about how women handling weapons was offensive to him. Unfortunately, the demands of diplomacy had kept Eowyn from making a rebuttal and inwardly she was still seething about it.

They had entered the palace walls when suddenly, Nunaur had paused in his steps beside them. The elf’s expression became one of dark concern as he halted in the middle of the corridor leading deeper into the structure.

"Nunaur?" Melia stared at him in concern. "What is the matter?"

"Something is wrong," the elven march warden replied, his eyes searching for something neither of them could see.

"What do you mean?" Eowyn demanded.

"I sense danger," Nunaur replied appearing somewhat confused by what his senses were telling him. "I sense it drawing near."

Eowyn felt terribly vulnerable as he made that statement, clad in her riding clothes without the benefit of a weapon. With Nunaur in escort and because the route taken during their ride was relatively safe, there was little reason to be excessively armed. She could not imagine what danger there could be but she had been in Arwen’s company long enough to know that the senses of elves were not to be distrusted. Too many times before had that perception save their lives before and Eowyn was not about to question it now.

Suddenly the tension of the moment was interrupted by the echoing sound of footsteps marching down the corridor. Nunaur’s gait seemed to tense even further as if the danger was pressing up his spine. His hand dropped to his hip, resting firmly upon the hilt of the elven blade waiting to be unsheathed from its scabbard. Instinct and logic waged a desperate battle inside the minds of Eowyn and Melia as they tried to think off all the reasons why Nunaur could be wrong. In the end, simple memory won the day because during their encounter with the Dark Elf Eol, both women had seen the fragility of the palace’s supposedly invulnerable reputation.

However, what emerged from the corner of the corridor was not some terrible creature of darkness but rather half a dozen palace guards. Their gazes fixed firmly upon the two women as they approached and there was something in their manner that immediately put Eowyn on guard, though she could not understand why she should react to them with such caution. These were guards she had seen at every visit she had made to the palace since becoming the Lady of Ithilien. There was no reason to fear them and yet instincts made her wary nonetheless. They came to a pause before her, their faces were stone as they regarded Eowyn and Melia with eyes equally hard.

"Lady Melia, Lady Eowyn," the leader among them spoke. "We regret to inform that you are to be taken into custody by the order of King Elessar."

At first it did not register because it was simply too incredible for her mind to accept.

  
"In custody?" Eowyn demanded. "For what reason?"

"We have not been told," the man answered, his expression showing that he was just as bewildered by this orders but not enough to prevent him from carrying them out. "Our orders are only to see to it that you are brought into custody."

"This is outrageous!" Eowyn retorted as she saw the guards making a move towards them. "I do not for one instant believe that the king sanctioned this. I demand to see him! Better yet, I demand to see my husband, the Steward of Gondor."

"Neither the king or the steward will see you my lady," the guard answered. "It was  _Prince Faramir_ that issued the king’s orders."

Eowyn was stunned into silence.

Behind her, Melia and Nunaur were similarly astonished by the guard’s revelation. It was too incredible, all of it. To believe for an instant that the Aragorn they knew would order their arrest without even revealing why was impossible. However, it was no more improbable then believing Faramir would issue orders for his wife’s incarceration. Yet here it was before them, an impossibility about to become reality.

"I do not believe you," she whispered soft as she struggled to regain her composure. Thoughts swirled in her head, memories of the husband she loved more than anything, who had entered her life when she was of the belief that she would never love again because of a broken heart. He had rekindled the spirit inside her with his love, embraced the woman she was as something amazing, not at all to be tamed but relished. To believe that he was capable of this was impossible and Eowynrefused to believe it.

In fact, she would not.

The guard had stood close to her when he revealed his orders, preparing to take her into his keeping even though he did not see any danger. It would be his undoing. Moving with speed that was almost elvish in its execution, Eowyn reached out and pulled away the sword at his hip. He reacted quickly but she was faster and by the time, he understood what had happened, the man felt the steel point of his sword against his throat.

"Withdraw," Eowyn ordered in a low voice.

"Do not be a fool my lady!" The guard tried to reason with her as the other guards unsheathed their weapons. Nunaur had also reacted in kind, offering support to Eowyn as he hurried to her side; his sword also unsheathed and brandished.

"The rest of you will go back the way you came," Eowyn repeated herself, pressing the blade harder against his throat. A little more effort and she would break skin. "Withdraw or I will run this floor red with his blood!"

For a moment, they hesitated, disbelieving that she would carry out her threat, but when Eowyn jabbed her the sword a little more, drawing a cry of pain from her victim, disbelief melted into understanding.

"There are five of us," one of them cried out as their captain trembled beneath Eowyn’s blade. "You cannot hope to fight your way through all of us."

"I stood before a creature that lived and breathed in Sauron’s midst. Darkness followed its every step and in its wake it swept aside warriors greater than any of you will ever hope to be with the power of its sorcery. I killed this thing and sent it into the shadow realm when all others around me had fallen, when even the King of the Mark lay at my feet. Do not presume that because I am woman, I cannot fight and defeat each one of you. I have face far eviler things then five guards who do not know when to retreat when it is in their best interests to do so."

Her speech had the desired effect of shaking them and despite the fact that they were five armed against two, they decided to heed her advice and withdraw. Eowynstood firm until they had disappeared down the hallway, until Nunaur could no longer hear their footsteps. However, the departure was temporary and no doubt, even as she and her companions stood their ground, the soldiers would be returning soon enough and in greater numbers. When Eowyn removed her sword, Nunaurslammed the hilt of his own against the back of their prisoner’s neck, causing him to crumple to the floor in an unconscious heap and saving them the trouble of worrying about a hostage as they decided what they would do next.

"That was very impressive," Melia declared with unhidden admiration.

"Thank you," Eowyn said with a little smile, "I did that rather well, did I not."

"I would have withdrawn," Nunaur responded.

"We have to find Arwen," Eowyn declared striding down the hallway.

"We should find Legolas," Melia replied. "Perhaps he can stop this."

"He could have, he would done so already," Eowyn retorted as they took the servants corridors that veered them away from the main halls of the palace. "Besides, if my husband can be made to issue such an order, then there is no guarantee that Legolas is not affected in the same way."

"You cannot be certain of this," Melia countered, not wanting to believe that Legolas could be party to this nightmare that was slowly unfolding before them.

"I think she is right," Nunaur answered grimly. "I sensed danger when we entered the palace but it was not the danger of those guards. Something of great evil has cast its shadow upon us all. I can feel it all around us. It may be unwise to attempt to reach Lord Legolas."

"Would it be any easier to reach Arwen?" The former Ranger inquired.

Eowyn paused briefly as she turned to Melia, "if Aragorn made such an order and Faramir ordered it, then reaching the Lord of Eden Ardhon will not help us. We need to reach someone in authority and aside from the king and the steward, that person is the Queen of Gondor. In any case, I do not believe that Arwen would stand by and be party to this without good reason. I am hoping she can explain some of this."

"It is a worthy course of action, my lady," Nunaur stared at Melia.

"I agree," Melia nodded after considering Eowyn’s words briefly. "However, we cannot remain out in the open like this. We have to reach her quickly before the entire palace is roused and hunting for our blood."

"I hope it does not come to that," Eowyn replied as they started moving again.

Melia hoped the same thing as well but after what they had just been witnessed to, it did not seem likely.

* * *

"Your highness, what has happened?" Ioreth asked after Arwen and she were left alone after Legolas and Faramir had left the royal chambers.

Ioreth had remained in the nursery, listening closely with rising disbelief as she heard Arwen arguing with the Prince of Ithilien and the Lord of Eden Ardhon as Arwen was forced to remain inside the royal chambers with armed guards outside her door ensuring she did not leave. Only after the nurse had heard the door closing behind the two men did she emerge to find Arwen standing in the center of the room, shaking with shock and anger.

"Something has happen to Estel," Arwen finally found her voice to speak after seconds of silence. The queen was clearly distressed and attempting to gain control of her anxious emotions. "The Easterlings have bewitched him somehow."

"Bewitched him?" Ioreth exclaimed. "How so?"

"He is different," Arwen stammered, "cold. He stared at me like I was a stranger, like I meant nothing to him. He would not let me see him and rebuked me for not knowing my place. That is not my Estel!" There was an edge of panic to the Evenstar’s voice that the old woman had never heard.

"Of course it is not," Ioreth hurried to the elven queen and consoled her with a comforting embrace. "If you say that he is bewitched, then I believe you. I heard Lord Legolas and Prince Faramir, I could not believe that is was them speaking if I had not seen it for myself."

There was no doubt in Ioreth’s mind that the king was bewitched as the queen claimed. Since the day she had been brought into this palace to take on the role of nurse to the crown prince, one thing was evident to her and to all those who lived within its walls, the king utterly adored his wife. It was a love so powerful that it warmed the heart to see someone as brave and noble could feel so much for one woman and seeing that same adoration in his loves’ eyes reflected back was equally as satisfying. If even half of what Arwen had said was true about Aragorn’s words to her in the great hall, then Ioreth was more than convinced that he was under some spell because nothing could compel him to speak to Arwen in that fashion.

"He has guards at the door," Arwen declared when she pulled away from Ioreth’s arms. "Those who control him do not wish to me to leave and they know I will try. Come, Ioreth, we do not have much time."

"What do you intend to do?" Ioreth asked as Arwen made her way to the nursery.

"I will remain here in my chambers because I must know what it is they plan to have him do," Arwen replied. "Estel and the leaders of Middle earth have be cast under some form of enchantment by the Easterlings, the spell must be broken. If they are allowed to leave Minas Tirith, the Easterlings will have puppets in every realm in the western lands, at Dol Amroth, Rohan, Ithilien even at Eden Ardhon."

"Then you must leave the Citadel," Ioreth said quickly, "you must attempt to reach our war masters and tell them what transpires here."

"I cannot leave," Arwen paused at Eldarion’s crib. "They will be expecting such a thing of me so it must be you."

"Me?" Ioreth’s eyes widened.

"Yes," Arwen answered, "it must be you because you must take my son with you. I dare not risk his life by allowing him to remain within his father’s reach, not when Estel’s mind is stolen. As it is, the enemy who was committed this sorcery has a great deal of power with the king under his sway and until we are able to convince others of what has happened, if that is even possible, there is nothing that is beyond his reach."

Ioreth nodded in understanding, despite her fear to do what Arwen asked. It was true. If Aragorn were indeed someone else’s creature, through him, they would be able to accomplish anything because there was little in Gondor that did not bend to the will of King Elessar. She cast her gaze at the babe in his mother’s arms, the child that had become as dear to her as any of her own children and knew that she would do anything to protect him.

"I will not let anything happen to him my lady," Ioreth said firmly and meant it.

"Thank you," Arwen smiled, assured that if it were in her power, Ioreth would keep Eldarion safe. However they had little time. If guards were not yet posted to terrace and gardens outside the royal chambers, there soon would be. Ioreth had to leave before they arrived. "Pack as little as you can. You need to move swiftly."

No sooner than she said those words, both women were alerted to a loud pounding against the door to the royal chamber. Arwen paled visibly and bade Ioreth to remain silent as she went to investigate. She had hoped for more time and her heart sank as the relentless pounding continued, indicating whomever was on the other side had no patience to wait. Calming herself, Arwen went towards the door, pausing first to retrieve Anduril that was hanging above the fireplace. She hid the weapon behind her and continued forward to answer the door once more.

When Arwen opened the door, she was not surprised to see the guards waiting outside in the hall though she wished she had more time. There were at least six of them waiting to be let in and Arwen suspected that the only justification for such numbers if they were in anticipation of receiving a great deal of trouble from her. There was only one thing that could bear that much resistance from her in their eyes and that was if they threatened her child.

"What is it?" She demanded.

"The king wishes the crown prince brought to him my lady," the guard responded. "Please let us in."

"He is not here," Arwen lied, aware that it was likely to do any good but she had to try nevertheless. "He was taken into the gardens by the Lady Ioreth."

The guard however was not so easily deceived and wanted proof. "I would prefer to see the nursery for myself, my lady."

"I do not give you leave to enter the royal chambers guard," Arwen said haughtily, sounding every bit the indignant monarch when she spoke.

"We have been given permission by the king," the guard repeated himself. "Please allow us entry or we shall be forced to take more drastic step."

"No," Arwen declared firmly.

Unfortunately, it appeared that they were more than willing to carry out the king’s order and she was shoved away from the doorway when they barged past the door, their numbers filling the room. The leader immediately took steps towards the nursery but Arwen was far swifter than he to allow him to enter. She barred his way with Anduril in her hand, her eyes gleaming with as much menace as the blade itself.

"Over my dead body, will you take my son," she hissed, raising the sword for them to see how determined she was on this point.

"Do not make this worse than it already is," the guard beseeched her but he had also drawn his weapon.

"Your king has been bewitched and you are playing into the hands of the enemy by obeying his demands. Do you not think it strange that you are ordered to steal a babe from its mother?" Arwen declared, hoping to reach them on some level.

"The king knows all about your plan to steal the prince away from Minas Tirith," the guard retorted. "He knows that you plan to return to your elven kinsmen and forsake Gondor!"

"What?" Arwen stared blankly at him.

The accusation took her by such surprise that her guard slipped for an instant and her attacker closed in. The guard had no intention of hurting her but he was intent on disarming her of the king’s sword. Unfortunately, Arwen had been accustomed to swordplay an age longer than her opponent had and she blocked his heavy swipe easily. However, the retaliatory strike brought the other guards forward and Arwen realized in a split second of despair that she would not be able to stop them all. She only hoped Ioreth had sense enough to flee.

However, it appeared she was not about to face this battle alone. Suddenly, without warning, Eowyn burst into the room, with Melia and Nunaur following. Her friend assessed the situation immediately and when her arrival deterred the attention of the guards from the queen, Eowyn raised her sword to fight. Arwen had little time to watch Eowyn defend herself as the queen blocked a powerful blow for the leader of the guards whom she had been battling. Anduril clanged hard against his sword and though the weapon was heavier than she was accustomed, she proved herself when he stumbled back from the ferocity of her attack. She swung the blade over her head, putting all her strength into it as she took advantage at his loss of balance He was barely capable of fending off her blow, let alone take the offensive.

  
Arwen had no wish to hurt him and swung again with just as much power behind her blade. Thanks to her elvish heritage, she had far more endurance than as he staggered backwards; she searched for something she could use to end their battle without actually taking his life. A heavy sculpture at the corner of the room came into rich and Arwen grabbed it with one hand and smashed the object against the side of his head when he was trying to come at her again. The stone carving shattered in her hand, crumbling to the floor as fragments and her opponent fell to the ground without a sound.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she looked up to see Eowyn battling the other guards. It was the first time Arwen had ever seen Eowyn fight another human being other than sparring with Melia. She had seen the Lady of Ithilien battle cold drakes, slay a dragon and the foul remnants of Mirkwood’s spiders but to see her fight an enemy armed with a sword was another thing entirely. Arwen could not help but stare with some measure of awe because Eowyn was amazingly fast. She was almost as fast as Estel and a part of Arwen was almost curious to see how Eowyn would fare against her king in a contest of swordplay.

Eowyn fought with cold ruthlessness. She did not strike blindly and each blow against her opponent was made to count. She did not fight to kill but to disable and though she did not resort to the clumsy solution that Arwen had employed, she left her challengers with wounds to ensure they would not be in any condition to offer pursuit but would eventually recover from.

Melia on the other hand, fought with whatever was at hand, in this case the poker from the fireplace. The former ranger had enough agility and skill with her hands to ensure that she was able to hold her own. Unlike Eowyn’s calculated movements, Melia’s style of defense was spur of the moment and intuitive, allowing her to take her opponent by surprise. What was left of the guards, Nunaur was able to dispatch with the skill afforded to a denizen of Mirkwood who had battled far dangerous things than Citadel guards in his time.

When the battle was over and the guards were either subdued or unconscious around them, the four combatants faced each other with a flurry of questions.

"Arwen, what in the name of Manwe is going on?" Eowyn demanded. When she had entered the queen’s chamber and saw the attack, she had not even considered why, only that Arwen needed her help.

"They came to take Eldarion," Arwen explained breathlessly, still a little stunned that things were unfolding as they were. "Something has bewitched Estel. Not just him but all who were present at the signing."

"Then that explains why Lord Faramir would order his wife and Lady Melia taken into custody," Nunaur shook his head in understanding.

"They are all affected by whatever spell the Easterlings has wrought upon them," Arwen declared, unsurprised by this news since she remembered how Faramir and Legolas had escorted her to her chambers. "The guard told me that Estel believed I was going to steal Eldarion away from him and return with him to Imladris. They had come to take him away from me."

"This may not be the best place for him," Eowyn replied. "If what you say is true, if the king’s mind has been taken then Eldarion is a powerful bargaining tool to use against you."

  
"Agreed," Melia added. "They would use your love for your son to control you. That is probably why they had the king order your son brought to him."

"Ioreth!" Arwen called out. "It is safe for you to show yourself."

Ioreth appeared shortly after, her expression wrought with worry as she held the infant prince in her arms. However, it dissipated considerably when she saw that the queen was unhurt. It had been unnerving indeed for her to remain hidden when she could only hear the sounds of swords clashing beyond the walls of the nursery. Once Ioreth had joined them, Nunaur prompted them to leave the royal chambers, taking flight into the gardens that surrounded this section of the palace. Unfortunately, the safety it afforded would only be fleeting. Once the guards were discovered, the alarm would be raised throughout the Citadel.

"We must get Eldarion out of here," Arwen stated firmly, "we must get to the war masters in the city."

Eowyn who was more familiar with the extent of the king’s hold upon his kingdom was not convinced this would be any better for Eldarion. "Arwen, I do not think that will be any safer. Even if you are able to reach his counselors, they will have a difficult time of it being able to unseat Aragorn. He is king. His word is law and nothing he has done so far has endangered Gondor or its people Not yet at least."

"You cannot call our husbands behaviour as normal!" Arwen countered.

"Evenstar," Nunaur interceded, understanding Eowyn’s point all too well. "As distasteful as the Elfstone’s behaviour has been, he has not endangered anyone and to them, he is perfectly within his rights to treat his wife and his son as he chooses. We cannot guarantee Eldarion will be any safer in Minas Tirith then he is here."

"You need to take him beyond Aragorn’s reach," Melia suggested. "You need to take him out of Gondor."

"Out of Gondor?" Arwen gasped with shock but soon realized that they were right. Eldarion was not safe and Estel was still king even if his mind was bewitched. She thought deeply as to what needed to be done and came to a solution far sooner than she would have liked, even though she did not like it very much. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her uncertain nerves and revealed to her friends, the only way she knew to protect her son.

"He must be taken to Lorien then," Arwen admitted reluctantly. "To my grandsire, Celeborn."

"Yes," Eowyn nodded agreeing that this was a good choice, "Celeborn would ensure no harm comes to Eldarion and not even the armies of Gondor would dare attempt to intrude upon Mirkwood without regretting it bitterly."

"It is a long journey," Melia added, "and one that could prove useful because we need a wizard here to break this spell and Pallando still dwells at Thranduil’s court. You can take Eldarion to Celeborn and send word to Eryn Lasgalen that Pallando is needed in the White City."

"Not me," Arwen answered staring at her son a moment before raising her eyes to the others. "Ioreth, you will take my son to Mirkwood and Nunaur, you will go with her."

"I will not leave none of you here alone Evenstar," the march warden stated vehemently

"You can and you will," Arwen said firmly, her voice commanded the same obedience demanded of her grandmother Galadriel, rather than the Queen of Gondor. "This task is far more important than the lives of three women. If the Easterlings gain possession of my son, they could conceivably affect the future of Middle earth for the next three centuries, do you understand? Through his father and through him, they would have the power to spread darkness across the land. We cannot let that happen and the only way to ensure that is for you to do what I ask."

Nunaur’s debate with the decision could be seen clearly on his face however, Arwen suspected that he would agree to her wishes. He was an elf after all. He would yield to the logic of the situation.

"Alright," he finally agreed. "But what about you? What will you gain by remaining?"

Arwen raised her eyes to Eowyn and Melia before answering, "time."

Time to stop whatever the Easterlings were planning from taking shape. If it was not already too late.


	5. Flight and Fight

 

Everything had been transpiring as she had envisioned.

Ever since her father had told her of his intention to wed her off to the King of the Mark, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth had constructed with surprising precision the form and course of her escape. She had bided her time and given no inkling to anyone of what she had planned, determined that nothing would stand in her way when the time came for her scheme to move forward.

For days since her arrival in Minas Tirith, Lothiriel had played the part of the frightened and timid daughter of Prince Imrahil in order to disarm those around her from what she intended to do. Her performance had been most convincing and now she was making her way across the Citadel away from the palace. In a short time, she would pass beyond the gates into the city. She would be free at last. Lothiriel should have been thrilled by this accomplishment.

She should have been but she was not.

Even as she widened the distance between herself and the palace, Lothiriel was not as pleased as she should have been. Dressed in the garb of a servant boy, her hair tucked neatly under a cap while all traces of her gender were concealed beneath plain, course material, she felt confused by what she had done. In one instance, she was grateful to escape her father’s tyranny in deciding whom she would marry but in another, she felt ashamed that she had broken faith with him by her flight. Defiantly, Lothiriel reminded herself that her father had broken faith with her first by forcing her to marry but the argument did not have its earlier potency.

  
This should not be hard, she told herself as she hastened her pace. The enclosure of stone surrounding the first level of hill upon which the Citadel was built was coming swiftly coming into sight. Once through its gates, she would be beyond her father’s reach. On this day, the gates that were normally sealed to all save invited guests were flung open for the celebration of the treaty. Revelers were already gathering in numbers in anticipations and Lothiriel would be able to lose herself within the crowds as she slipped through the gates.

Once into Minas Tirith, she could take advantage of the fanfare and slip out of the city to make her way westward to Isengard. It was within reach now and she should have been pleased by this fact but she was strangely subdued about her success. Unwillingly, her thoughts kept returning her to the King of the Mark as she considered with far more frequency then she liked, their encounter in the hall the night before. Lothiriel’s life had ensured that she did not have any suitors. In the beginning, there had been a few but she had little interest in them and when rumors of her past time has filtered through the nobility of Dol Amroth, they dwindled into nothingness. It was a situation that suited her well for she had never found any of the suitors to her liking.

And because none of them could meet her gaze and pierce her thoughts with a deep penetrating stare.

The amount of time she was devoting to that particular feature of the King of the Mark bothered Lothiriel more than she liked. She found herself thinking less of Isengard and more of the smile that assured her he would not force himself upon or the jest that tried to draw out her voice. He was nothing like what she had expected and what he was, she took in with some measure of pleasant surprise. She had expected a warmonger on horseback and received in turn, an almost shy and unassuming young man who was not quite as certain about the whole idea of marriage as she. It was nice to know that he looked upon their desired betrothal with as much trepidation.

_Oh No._

Lothiriel came to a startling realization when she looked up and saw the gates splayed wide open before her like the invitation of a lover. Was it possible she was falling for him? It cannot be! She cried out silently as she made her escape from the Citadel, hardly capable of exulting her freedom with such thoughts in her head. Yet with each step she took, she knew that she was not certain of anything. Perhaps she did not love him for though her heart was kindled with fire, it was still too new and uncertain to be interpreted as being something that permanent. Still there was the possibility it could be nurtured into something passionate.

 _I will not be drawn into this_ , Lothiriel told herself defiantly. She had made plans! Plans that she had harbored all her life when other maidens around her were making insipid wishes about being little more than breeding mares and a beautiful playthings for some lord who would only display them at important occasions. She had wanted to be more then that! Lothiriel stormed past the gates, crushing mercilessly the treasonous thoughts in her mind as she continued forward into the city. She had almost succeeded in this ruthless purging when a stray thought crossed her mind and made her groan in disgust with herself.

_The road to Isengard passes through Rohan._

Lothiriel was so furious for even thinking such a thing that she continued walking ahead, brushing past bodies without even noticing them, all the while rebuking herself for falling prey to a smile and a penetrating gaze. She did so until the bodies thinned and the light form the streets dimmed. When she finally paid notice as to where she was, Lothiriel found herself coming to a halt immediately. For a moment, a sliver of fear ran through her as she saw the lack of people about and the fact that she had taken a path that had led her away from the main body of revelers.

Where she had found herself was strangely quiet. Even the buildings were dark with only a faint light here and there to give any indication that there was life at all. She heard the snort of horses in the distance and something that sounded like voices. Anxious because she was lost and seeking out someone to help her find her way from this collection of seemingly empty buildings would mean exposing herself, Lothiriel debated what to do. The celebration was not long from beginning and if her father did not know she was missing yet, he would soon enough when she failed to appear as his escort for the night.

Unfortunately, she had to leave the city as soon as possible and that meant having to find her way out of this maze of buildings. They seemed very unfamiliar to her and had the smell of freshly cut wood. As she skimmed the walls of one of the buildings, she could feel the splinters against the newly shaved surface. Whatever this construct was, it had been made only recently. Lothiriel stilled her fear and decided to find the voices if she could without revealing herself.

Like a moth drawn to the flame, she was similarly attracted to the light emanating from one of the buildings. It was one of the few that bore such illumination and it was close enough for her to discern that the voices she was hearing came from the open window that allowed the light to escape into the darkness. Crouching low, she moved as softly as she could manage and soon reached the base of the wall. She hoped to listen to the speakers enough to learn where she was. As she drew nearer, she could hear the voices sharpen in clarity and strained to listen closer.

For a moment, the language did not register immediately.

It was neither elvish, Westron nor even the language of the dwarfs. The only reason she knew it at all was because she studied the book of magic and had taught herself to understand the language of its authors and some of it was written in speech that was not all proper for her to know. It was Black Speech and it was not even the dialect spoken by the orcs of this day and age, no it had far more ancient tone to it. Her heart froze in her chest as well as the rest of her body and for a second, she dared not even breathe.

Who was it that resided in this dwelling that knew Black Speech, Lothiriel thought frantically.

She wanted to run away immediately. If she had any sense about her, she would have. However, her imperatives had altered significantly with the results of her eavesdropping. Knowing that it was folly but unable to stop herself, she raised herself just enough to peer over the edge of the windowsill.

Within the room before her was at least a dozen Easterlings. Though they were not dressed as fanciful as she had observed of Lord Ulfrain the night before, Lothiriel recognized them instantly by their appearance and by their clothes. Puzzlement immediately filled her mind. Why were they speaking Black Speech? She had not made much comment during the discussions the night before but she was certain the Easterling general had stated that the people of Far Harad and the Easterlings had their own language.

"All is in readiness," one of them spoke. He seemed to be the leader and was addressing the others like he was deploying troops for attack. It would take Lothiriel a little longer than the immediate time to learn that he was in a way. "The spell has been cast," he continued to say.

Spell?

Lothiriel’s thoughts flared immediately with interest. What spell? She was certain that it was not appropriate for the Easterlings to be spell casting within the city of King Elessar.

"Then we should go," another declared. "I tire of this guise."

"As do we all," the leader retorted with understanding, "but it is almost over. We will have no need of any mask once we are done tonight."

"That pleases me," a third voice entered the discussion. "I do not like these Easterlings or these Haradrim. They are barbarians. It is no wonder that Morgoth’s underling was defeated with these primitives fighting his battles. They act without thought and their passion is misdirected and ultimately detrimental instead of an asset."

Morgoth’s underling? Lothiriel’s mind whirled at the description. Did he mean Sauron? Who were these men that they could call Sauron an underling of Morgoth? And as far as her eyes could tell, each man in the room having this dark discussion was Haradrim. Yet they spoke as if they were something else. But what?

"When we are done with our task tonight, we will deal with them as we will deal with the others," the leader declared firmly. "However, we need to go now. It is time to shed ourselves of this mask and don another."

In the amber light that filled the space of the room, Lothiriel saw the shadows shift and as her eyes widened in realization of what she was seeing, all thoughts of escape fled her mind. Like a stag caught in a hunter’s sights, she could do nothing for an instant as she was mesmerized with shock at what she had seen. Slowly, with more stealth then she knew herself capable of managing, she made a retreat from the building and hurried back the way she came, leaving it far behind her.

There was no reason for her to find out which way to go in order to leave Minas Tirith because there was only one place she wanted to go at this moment and that was back to the Citadel and the White Tower. She had to tell her father what she had seen in that room. What the shadows and the soft light had revealed to her, what she to tell King Elessar and the rest of the Middle earth’s leaders.

She had to warn them all before it was too late.

**************

She did not think it would be so hard to let him go but it was.

Despite the event being more than an hour behind her, the time did not lessen the sting of their parting and she could not ignore the ache in the very pit of her that came from his loss. Yet there was nothing else for Arwen, Queen of Gondor to do but to let him go, to let her sweet babe escape the Citadel while it was still possible for him to do so. By now, Arwen was content with the knowledge that Nunaur was beyond the reach of Aragorn and the menace that had snared the mind of her beloved king. If he who was once march warden of Mirkwood and now of Eden Ardhon chose to move unseen through the Citadel, not even the burden of an infant and a human female would alter that fact. He was an elf after all and stealth was more than just ability but away of life for her people.

When it came to the life of her son however, Arwen was not prepared to rely simply upon Nunaur’s skills of evasion. With her companions at her side, the queen had ensured that the soldiers searching the grounds of the Citadel had more than just her son to occupy their attention. Remaining in the open, when she, Eowyn and Melia should be seeking concealment, the three women maintained the guise that they were attempting to escape the Citadel as the soldiers kept in close pursuit. So intent was the enemy on their capture, that attention seemed to have faded from the whereabouts of the crown prince. Arwen hoped that their subterfuge was enough to give Nunaur the advantage he needed to smuggle Eldarion and Ioreth out of Citadel.

  
Even though their immediate course was obvious, Arwen had not considered what they would do beyond eluding capture and ensuring Eldarion was taken safely from the Citadel. While it was also obvious that they needed to save Aragorn and the rest of their loved ones from this dark enchantment, how this was to be achieved was not so easy to discern. With the king under their sway, the enemy had a great deal of power at their disposal and it was fast becoming clear to Arwen that she could not hope to reach Aragorn on either an emotional or a physical level. If Aragorn willed it, all of Gondor’s warriors would place themselves between himself and his queen, ensuring that Arwen would never reach him to break the spell that had taken his mind.

However, if she could not reach Aragorn what other course was left to them?

The sensible thing to do would be to leave, to put as much distance between herself and Aragorn as possible. While she remained in the vicinity of the palace, she was in danger and Arwen no longer knew her husband to be able to judge what he would do to her, Eowyn or Melia if they were captured. Additionally, escaping the palace on this night would be a relatively easy matter. If this had transpired on any other night except this one, Arwen would not have held out hope that any of them could leave the city without considerable difficulty.

Fortunately, the shadow that had fallen over Aragorn and the other lords of Middle earth, appeared restrained momentarily by the celebration of the treaty. The people of Minas Tirith were being allowed through the eight of the gates that protected the White Tower within the Citadel. Celebration or not, the home of Aragorn Elessar would not tolerate intruders and because of this, Arwen knew that the orders to arrest her and her companions would not extend beyond the walls protected the palace.

However, despite the logic that forced her to use this advantage, Arwen could not leave and she doubted she could convince Eowyn and Melia of the same even if she were so inclined, which she was not. The shadow that had fallen over the palace was an exercise in subterfuge that the enemy was careful not to squander. Whatever it was they desired to do, secrecy was their greatest desire. They could not seen to show their hand too soon by allowing Gondor to see how much the king’s character had altered by letting it known that Aragorn had ordered the arrest of his wife. It was this need that compelled her to stay.

"Arwen watch out!" Arwen’s thought snapped back to the present when she heard Eowyn’s voice slice through her thoughts. The queen looked up to see an arrow surging towards her through the fading light of the sun.

Dropping swiftly to her knees, the projectile sailed over her head and struck the stable wall. The arrowhead dug deep into the stone but not enough to remain there. Melia was at her side in seconds. The Easterling raised her crossbow and was sending forth a deadly barrage of iron bolts through the air towards the guards that were firing at them from the wall surrounding the palace, dead ahead. Melia’s aim seemed much lower than it ought to be and when the bolt struck, Arwen saw the soldier buckle to his knees in pain. The three women had tried their hardest not to kill any of the soldiers who pursued them though it was becoming increasingly harder to maintain that desire when their enemy did not seem as concerned.

  
"Come on," Eowyn declared as she wrapped her fist around Arwen’s arms and prompted her into a run. They had returned to the stable at Melia’s insistence. The Ranger had desired to retrieve her crossbow and since the stables were in the absolute opposite direction of the route Nunuar had taken to leave the palace, it seemed like a good idea. However, the stable were proving to have too many shadows and corners that was ripe for ambush for them to remain in its vicinity any longer.

"We need to get into the palace," Arwen declared as they ran along the wall of the structure, barely escaping more archers as a barrage of arrows followed the path behind them. "It is too dangerous for us to remain out here in the open much longer."

"Into the palace?" Eowyn asked with some measure of urgency as well as puzzlement, "are you certain Arwen?"

"Yes," Arwen nodded. "They expect us to leave the Citadel and they commit themselves to prevent us from reaching that end."

"She is correct," Melia managed to say though she was panting slightly from all their exertions. "The enemy would expect Arwen to seek help beyond the gates of the Citadel. If it is Ulfrain who is responsible for all this, I do not think he would see us as much of a threat. We are after all women," she retorted with unconcealed disgust. He would think us capable of nothing beyond escaping and finding help."

"He does not think us strong enough to pose any threat to him, is that it?" Eowyn grasped what Melia was saying and felt a knot of disgust in her stomach at the presumption of the Easterling lord.

"More or less," Melia shrugged, knowing her race far too well.

"I do not think he will expect us to confront him," Arwen added, glancing over her shoulder and ensuring that they were following her closely and tracing her steps. As an elf, Arwen knew how to move about quietly then any human alive, save perhaps Estel. "If we take refuge inside the palace, it will give us a moment to think of a plan."

"I think a plan would be in very good order now," Eowyn retorted, disliking the pitch black darkness that Arwen had led them into. The barrage of bolts from Melia’s crossbow had bought them some time and Arwen had taken advantage of that, leading them behind the royal stables which was bathed in darkness for it was situated far away from the palace to avoid the stink of manure.

"All I have in mind is to learn what they are up to," Arwen replied as they paused a moment, catching their breath even though the odor left something to be desired. Her elven sense recoiled at the stench and she knew that they were near the immense tunnel system that ran throughout the Citadel for the purpose of sewerage, leading to its outlet in the Anduin.

"Beyond that," she met the gaze of her two companions, "I am at a loss."

"We need to break this spell they have over the king and Faramir," Eowyn declared hotly, hating it immensely when she was so helpless. It often took its toll upon her temper.

"We would all like nothing better," Melia declared. "Unfortunately, none of us know anything about spells or magic, so even if we  _could_  reach one of them, there is little we could do to free them and the king in his present state of mind could have us executed. We could never get close enough to Aragorn in any case."

"We have to try something!" Eowyn hissed with exasperation, aiming a little hint of accusation at Melia. "We cannot simply remain here with our hands tied, scurrying about in the dark like frightened children."

"Until we have a plan that is precisely what we must do," Melia’s own ire at the situation bubbled to the surface. "We must watch and wait," she replied, her Ranger instincts speaking in her stead now.

Arwen could sense Eowyn’s distress and knew that the Lady of Ithilien’s anxiety was mostly for her husband. All of this had transpired so quickly and while Arwen’s elven senses had given her some forewarning to prepare her for the danger, it was not so for either Eowyn or Melia. They had been plunged into this without warning, with little time to comprehend that suddenly their husbands had become strangers with no feeling for them at all. Arwen could appreciate their anguish. She had never thought she could see anything as terrible as the indifferent look in Estel’s eyes when he ordered her out of the great hall as if she were nothing to him. It had cut wounds in her heart that Arwen knew she would not forget easily.

"Eowyn," Arwen placed a gentle hand on her best friend’s shoulder, " I feel as you do. I hate how they have been taken away from us but we must be patient. We must move cautiously. We have no idea what we are facing. I am not even certain that Ulfrain is the enemy."

"Who else can it be?" Eowyn asked, unable to believe that it was mere coincidence that the spell cast over Faramir and the rest of their friend would occur when the Easterlings were at court.

"I do not know," Arwen shook her head, her senses paying careful attention to everything transpiring around her while they had this conversation. "I do not think that Ulfrain is capable of embarking on this deception alone. He did not give me the impression of having any particular skill of cunning."

  
"The only skill he  _did_  have is arrogance," Eowyn snorted in clear agreement with the queen. "However, you are correct. An attack upon Gondor in this fashion is extremely dangerous, far too dangerous for Ulfrain to gamble the well being of his entire kingdom."

"Unless he was extremely certain that he was going to win," Melia nodded in agreement. "Far Harad’s army despite the impressive display when marching into Gondor for the treaty, is in tatters. The Wainriders are destroyed and the rest of the Easterling races are in similar disarray. Those of the Sunlands have returned to their borders and the Corsairs do not even have a fleet after Pelargir. If Ulfrain has an ally in this, I would like to know who."

"Someone who is unknown to us," Arwen mused. "Someone new."

"I hate this," Eowyn sighed, still feeling the sting of the guard’s words when he had told her that it was Faramir who had issued the order for her arrest. In her mind, she knew that her husband and her love was not responsible, that he was made someone else’s puppet but it still hurt. "Give me an enemy I can fight, not this! I fear how far this has poisoned Faramir. If he was capable of issuing the order for my arrest, is he capable of bearing arms against me?"

"I do not think I want that question answered," Melia said softly as corresponding emotions regarding Legolas sprang forth inside of her. She could not imagine staring into her prince’s eyes and have him look at her with indifference. It stabbed too closely to her own fears about her mortality someday eroding away his love into obligation and weariness.

"Be assured that it is a weapon they will use," Arwen retorted, sparing them nothing because she could ill afford to. Melia and Eowyn had to face the possibility just as she was forced to send their son away from his father because she could no longer be certain that Aragorn would not hurt the child.

No one spoke for a moment but Arwen’s eyes were better in the dark than either Eowyn’s or Melia’s and she could see they were wrestling with difficult realizations in the anonymity of the shadows. It was hardest on Melia because she had already so many insecurities about her life with Legolas. At the core of the former Ranger, no matter how much she tried to ignore it was the fear that one day her elven husband would tire of the old woman she was destined to be and leave. Instances like this only serve to make Melia more conscious of the fragility of her life with him.

"We should not linger here too long," Eowyn broke the silence after a time. "It will not take them long to discover where we have gone. We should depart before they seek us out again."

"Yes," Melia nodded. "However, I do believe they will assume we are heading away from the palace not towards it."

"We should to maintain that guise for as long as it is possible," Eowyn agreed. "However that means remaining unseen when we enter the palace."

"With the celebrations about to begin, the palace is full of people," Melia reminded them, "getting past the guests and the servants will not be easy."

Arwen had a solution but it was not one she liked very much. "There is an alternate route into the palace, one were it is very unlikely we will encounter anyone."

Eowyn noted the reluctance in the voice of the queen, despite the fact her revelation was to their advantage. "Then why do you sound so disagreeable about it?" She asked suspiciously.

Arwen let out a deep breath and told them. As anticipated, her answer did little to impress them but unfortunately, it was the only course left to them.

"Why is it every time I come to Gondor, I always end up going on some terrible escapade with you?" Eowyn complained at Arwen with accusation as they follow the disgusting odor to its source.

"Because you are a glutton for adventure," Arwen managed a little smile. "Think of all the things you have seen since being in my company."

"You elves have an odd concept of humor," Eowyn retorted. "One would think that beings that long lived would have got it right by now."

"We have sophisticated humor," Arwen declared, enjoying the banter a little because it took away from their present crises a little. "It is not our fault that you  _children_  are not grown up enough to understand it."

"Says the elf who married a man who wanted to name their child after a hobbit’s pony, " Eowyn bit back.

Melia rolled her eyes and muttered, "oh just get in the accursed sewer the both of you."

************

So urgent was Lothiriel’s desire to return to the palace and warn her father and the king of what she had seen, she had barely thought to change out of her clothes when she hurried through the gates of the Citadel. The celebration had begun by the time she reached the gates that led to the inner sanctum of the Citadel where the White Tower resided. Her guise as a servant boy had proved to serve her well during her return journey for she was hardly accosted by anyone as she made her way through the body of revelers enjoying the sights and sounds in the street.

The people of Minas Tirith had turned out in all their numbers to enjoy the entertainment planned for the celebration. High above the sky, fireworks displays filled the canvas of night with luminous colors, drawing cries of astonishment and wonder from those who were watching avidly. Flowers of flame blossomed across the sky. They were followed by streaks of light that appeared like a rain of starlight falling to earth and great beasts soared briefly across the clouds before disappearing into nothingness of legend once again.

For those whose tastes for amusements exclude fireworks, there were other distractions. Jugglers performed in the street, keeping a loft in perpetual motion items such as balls, pins, small batons breathed in flame and even knives. There were fire-eaters swallowing their meals before amazed audiences and magicians who were devoid of any real power but delved in parlor tricks to add an air of wonder to the evening. There were tents scattered throughout the Citadel with more elaborate displays and though Lothiriel did not see these herself, she had heard talk of acrobats and performing animals.

The air was moist with the scent of food from vendors parading through the streets, carrying their wares while the riotous banter of men on the mead was never distant from her ears. Lothiriel wished she did not have to bring the news of what she had discovered to the king because she did not desire to see this atmosphere of merriment brought to an end. Unfortunately, what she knew was too urgent for her to delay her passage to the palace even for a second.

When she arrived at the gates that to the White Tower, she met immediate resistant from the guards who were stationed there regarding the notion of allowing her into its confines. However, she made her case earnestly and removing enough of her disguise for them to see her features and at the heart of them, they suspected that she was telling them the truth for she did appear to be of noble birth. It also helped that the gossip about the palace had inferred that the Lady Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was the beauty and not even the clothes of a servant boy could hide that fact from the guards when Lothiriel explained herself. After a reasonably lengthy plea for her case, they allowed her past them.

She was escorted immediately through the grounds into the palace where the celebration for the nobles was taking place. As she was led through across the High Court towards the White Tower, she noted that there were many guards about the place and the mood of celebration that had been so thick beyond the gates surrounding the palace was suddenly absent. If she did not know better, she would think that the atmosphere was somewhat somber and Lothiriel wondered if perhaps her news would not be such a surprise, that perhaps they already knew that there was danger.

Once into the palace, the atmosphere of tension dissipated slightly with the halls filled with household staff and servants, scurrying about like frantic ants for the preparation of the banquet that would be attended by the king’s guest. As she watched them going about their business, completely oblivious to all else around them, Lothiriel came to the conclusion that maybe what she knew was a secret after all. It was likely that the tension outside was merely that belonging to guards who were poised for trouble in the instance the celebration got out of hand with so many revelers beyond the gates.

She was led into the Great Hall where the king was seated on his throne. Her father was present, having been summoned once her whereabouts were reported to him by the guards. Also present were the other lords of Middle earth, including her cousin Faramir, who she knew very little since she had seldom visited the White City in the past. What did surprise was her was the presence of the Easterling lord, Ulfrain. What concern of it was his that she had fled from the palace?

"Lothiriel," Imrahil spoke first when she was presented to them, "where have you been?"

"I took a walk," she stammered, afraid to tell him that she was running away. It would only make him angry and at the moment, the news she had to tell him was far too crucial for it to be mired by the circumstances of how she had happened upon it. "I wanted to see the rest of the celebration so I left the palace for awhile." Her excuse was weak and she knew it but Lothiriel did not care, she had to tell him what she had discovered.

"Dressed as a servant boy?" Aragorn remarked, the king’s gaze fixed upon her.

"I thought it would be simpler to enjoy the walk if I was dressed as one of the common folk," Lothiriel explained. "Please listen to me, it does not matter why I left. I discovered something when I left the Citadel."

"I am afraid it does matter a great deal," Imrahil said sternly. "You are my daughter and I do not excuse your behavior. I do not believe for an instant that you departed for a mere ‘walk’. When I could not find you, I had your room searched. You took things with you that could only be justified if you did not intend to return."

"Father no," Lothiriel tried desperately to explain even though she knew that she was well and truly caught in the lie. She turned her gaze upon Eomer, hoping that he would aid her in some way. He had seemed so kind the night before, as if he truly cared. However, the King of the Mark stared back at her with puzzlement at what she would have him do. His lack of feeling for her plight shook her and it was at this point, she really began to notice them.

The benefit of being a stranger to Minas Tirith was being able to view these lords objectively and though she did not know them well enough to be any judge of their character, she knew that they were men of warmth and camaraderie. During the two encounters where she had been present at the table with them, she noted the depth of feeling they had for their wives and for each other. It radiated from their eyes like beacons.

She remembered Aragorn’s good humored personality, so far removed from the cold ruthlessness of Denethor, to the dwarf lord’s crusty words that were always laced with affection to those around him. The elven lord Legolas, like all elves, appeared aloof at times but there was nothing distanced about the way he spoke to his friends and his wife. Her cousin Faramir whom she met only a number of times in her life was more reserved, he liked to listen and possessed a wry sort of wit that spoke of mischief particularly when directed at the lady Eowyn. As for Eomer, she was not so clear but she did know that when she stared into his eyes, she felt herself being cut to the bone by the power of his gaze.

Not any more.

She saw nothing in his eyes but the black of oblivion and it was not just him, it was  _all_  of them., her father, the king and her cousin. All of them.

"Tell me Elessar," Ulfrain spoke up with a smile, "are all women here such a handful?"

"Our discipline it appears is severely lacking," Aragorn drawled smoothly, his gazed fixed upon Lothiriel as if she were a badly behaved pet.

"Father, please," Lothiriel ignored them and pleaded with her father to listen to what she had to say, "I saw something. I have to tell you!"

  
"I did not give you leave to speak," Imrahil said viciously. "You have embarrassed me before my king and the lords of Middle earth! You would do well to remain silent or I might just forget that you are my child."

The words stunned her into silence and she swept her gaze across the room and saw that Imrahil’s words was met with approval by the rest of the gallery. Her mind whirled in confusion, unable to understand how this could be. She had been present when Legolas had staunchly defended the lady Melia to Ulfrain the night before. He had called the behavior of the Easterlings towards their women, cruel. Such a radical shift of character was not possible over night, not unless something else inspired.

"What has happened here?" She found herself asking out loud before wisdom allowed her to think better of it.

"What has happened is that I have willful child who cannot obey her father!" Imrahil barked back.

"You are not my father," Lothriel stared at him. "My father would be angry but he would not simply silence me when I attempt to speak of something important."

"Not your father?" Imrahil laughed but Lothiriel caught sight of the glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. "You only wish that because you have provoked my severest displeasure."

"If you were my father," Lothriel challenged with more courage than she thought herself capable of possessing, "or if you were my king," she turned her eye upon Aragorn, "you would be more concerned with hearing my news then silencing me."

"What news do you have child?" Aragorn asked, picking up the verbal gauntlet the child had cast down before him

Lothiriel told him and expected to see fear in his eyes but once again there was nothing. He did not even blink at the news.

"You are certain of this?" Aragorn looked at her hard.

"Yes," she nodded. "I saw them. They will be able to breach the White Tower with very little resistance unless you do something now."

"Do not presume to tell the King of Gondor what he ought to do daughter," Imrahil snapped, wrapping his hand around her arm.

  
"But he must!" She cried out desperately, "they are coming! Are you not concerned?" Lothriel demanded of Aragorn before realizing something else.

"You are not concerned are you?" The words escaped her in a whisper as understanding finally dawned upon her. "You know. You know all about them."

Aragorn did not answer her but spoke directly to Imrahil, "I think your daughter needs discipline for her behavior. It would be best if she did not attend the festivities tonight. I will not her embarrass you or the court of Gondor any further."

"Father!" Lothiriel stared at Imrahil in desperation as Aragorn’s words sealed her fate.

"As you wish Sire," Imrahil nodded. "I will have her confined to her room."

"I think that would be an ill advised idea," Ulfrain added his voice, a little smile of pleasure crossing his face as he spoke, "she has already proved capable of breaking confinement at will. I think something a little more drastic is required."

"I agree," Aragorn nodded and Lothiriel could not believe the unreality of the situation as they spoke about her as if she was not even in the room. "Imrahil, I think we should place your daughter in the dungeon until tomorrow."

"No!" Lothiriel exclaimed horrified by the mere suggestion. "I have done nothing that warrants such action! What is the matter with all of you!"

"You will not speak to the king in that manner!" Imrahil hissed and lashing out with a balled fist.

The blow struck her on the cheek and was more shocking then it was painful. Her eyes became wide with astonishment as she clutched her cheek flaring with pain. In her entire life, Lothiriel had never seen her father raise his hand to her or her brothers. Tears pooled in her eyes despite herself because she had no wish for any of them to see her weep. Even in these terrible circumstances, she had too much pride for that.

"Father, do not do this," she begged as he began to pull her out of the room. "I know you are not yourself! None of you are! Something has done this to all of you!"

However, no one was listening, Imrahil most of all.

Lothiriel broke away from his grip and ran to Eomer, clinging desperately to the hope that he might still remember something of the feeling he had shown to her the night before.

  
"Lord Eomer," she pleaded coming to him, "you promised me you would never see anything done to me against my will. Please help me now."

Lothiriel placed her hand against his cheek, hoping that he would react to her touch because last night, despite how much she may loathed to admit it, she had felt something for him, something that was so unexpected she had scarcely believe the emotion could come from inside her. Lothiriel also knew that she was not alone, that in those few moments she had seen his heart and knew that he cared.

For a brief second, she saw something surface, a flicker of familiarity that sparked hope inside her. However, its existence was brief and it was soon crushed under the weight of all that blackness again. Still staring at her as if she was nothing to him, Eomer removed her hand from his face and spoke, not to her but to her father.

"Your daughter needs help Imrahil," he said tonelessly. "I think you should give her all the help she needs."

Lothiriel dropped her gaze to the floor in disappointment, feeling the anguish bubble inside her heart as she felt Imrahil’s grip upon her once more, dragging her away from Eomer and being unable to believe how much it hurt thinking that he did not care.

************

 

"I shall never forgive you for this," Eowyn grumbled as they walked along the edge of a slimy walkway within the dark tunnels beneath the Citadel.

When they had lowered themselves into the cavernous passage, they had produced a makeshift torch to light their way forward. The flame allowed them to see ahead although none of the company were at all grateful for this fact. The walls glistened with slime, dirt and filth that none of the women were eager to identify too closely. The walkway was slippery with similar grime and it took required some skill to travel across it without slipping into the murky canal running next to it. The dark water bubbled on occasion and none of them wanted to think what kind of life would inhabit such a disgusting bog.

The stench alone was overpowering and because the floors were so dangerous to traverse, their journey was painfully slow. On occasion they would hear the screech of rats or see something crawling across the wall that made them flinch. Dragons and drakes were one thing but tiny, crawling insects had the power to make even the bravest of them shriek in revulsion.

"Do you think this is my first choice?" Arwen retorted just as tersely. "You are not the one with elvish senses, I can smell everything in this place far better then you can."

The queen was leading the way because she had better eye sight then all of them. However, she was uneasy about being enclosed all around for she was an elf and her race was not partial to any place that would keep the stars from their sight for lengths of time. The passageway seemed endless and were broken intermittently by the grates on the ceiling. During these occasions, they remained very silent, listening carefully for movement above for it was imperative that they remained unseen.

"For once I am grateful to be mortal," Melia commented with similar distaste. While she was not an elf, she was a Ranger and like all her kind, she preferred the outdoors herself to the gritty substance of urban living. "As much as I dislike our present location, this is the safest and most covert way to enter the palace. Your choice was wise Arwen."

"Yes it was," Eowyn admitted begrudgingly. "I do not fault your choice, just the situation."

"The situation is indeed dire," Melia had to agree, shunting aside thoughts of Legolas as someone else’ creature for it would only hinder her spirit. "I wish Pallando were here. The Istar would have this spell broken in a minute."

"Unfortunately, Pallando is many days if not weeks away," Arwen replied. "We cannot wait for him to help us."

"Do you know anything about spells?" Eowyn asked. She found that elves had amazing skills in their possession. She supposed that one had to fill one’s time with all manner of things when one lived that long.

"Not really," Arwen confessed, wishing she did. "I know how to call upon the power of my people to aid me in times of crisis but spell lore was not something I sought to learn. My father had skill in such matters but I think what he learnt, he did so mostly to protect our people from Sauron. If we had need for such craft, we would simply turn to Mithrandir for assistance."

"The Grey Pilgrim," Eowyn nodded. "My brother liked him a great deal."

"There was no greater Istar than Mithrandir," Arwen said sadly, suddenly missing the old man a great deal. Mithrandir had been a great friend to her father and to both herself and Estel through the darkest of times and the best of them. "I miss him terribly."

"So we are alone in finding out how to deal with this," Melia commented, returning their thoughts to their present predicament.

"It would appear so," Arwen nodded. "The difficulty with breaking spells is that more often than not, you need to know the exact one to be able to counteract it."

"I do not think Ulfrain will be forthcoming with that information," Eowyn retorted.

"Maybe it is not Ulfrain we should ask," Melia suggested as they came to the fork in the tunnel and followed Arwen as she chose which one they should take.

"You mean Akallabeth?" Eowyn looked over her shoulder at her.

"Why not?" Melia replied. "She may not be as cowered by her husband as we think."

"No," Arwen said firmly. "We will not ask her. I do not quite know what to make of her yet and until we do, I would not look to her for help."

"What do you not think she will aid us?" Melia asked puzzled.

"It is simply best that we do not," Arwen replied, recalling the uneasy sensation she experienced being around the Haradrim queen. "I sense something odd from her, something I cannot define clearly and it is unwise to approach her when we are so uncertain of her."

"So what do we do once we enter the palace?" Eowyn inquired, frowning at the carcass of a dead rodent floating past her.

"I am not sure," Arwen admitted, wishing she had more answers for her friends. "We need to find one of the men, to see if anything can be done about breaking the enchantment."

"That will not be easy to do," Melia replied. "I do not think we will be able to remove them against their will and enchantment or not, catching Legolas unawares will be next to impossible."

"We will never get close enough to either Aragorn or Faramir, Arwen," Eowyn offered grimly. "The king and the ruling steward are too valuable to the enemy, they would hurl everything at us to prevent us from reaching either."

Eowyn was still awaiting an answer from Arwen when she was suddenly overcome with inspiration. "Eomer," she exclaimed with excitement. "If we cannot reach the king or Faramir and if Legolas is too difficult to catch unawares, then it is Eomer we must attempt to approach."

"Eomer," Melia mused, considering the suggestion and found that if they were going to embark on such a dangerous course then it was Eomer that they offered them the best chance of success. "I think you are right. They may not expect us to reach him. After all, the logical course would be for us to make an attempt for our husbands not a brother, especially in the mind of Ulfrain who believes women are beholding to their men."

"If there is any way to reach them emotionally then Eomer would be our best alternative because he is my brother. Our affection for one another is far older and deeper than any other here. He was my brother before he was King of the Mark, before my love for Faramir even."

"You have convinced me," Arwen declared, grateful to have some way to strike even though she was uncertain how successful they were going to be in attempting to break this spell. Still, this course was better than lingering in helplessness. "We must wait until the banquet begins, when all the guests have arrived."

"I wonder how they intend to explain our disappearance," Melia remarked as they neared a junction in the tunnels. "The absence of the queen would go unnoticed surely."

"I wondered about that myself," Arwen replied taking the correct fork in the tunnel. Ahead, they could see a beam of light filtering through the roof. The stench of refuse had begun to wane a little and tinged with the aroma of food cooking. "This whole thing puzzles me."

Arwen did not answer for they were soon at their destination. Beneath the beam of light was a ladder leading through a narrow tunnel through the roof. At the end of it was an iron grate that would no doubt lead to a floor somewhere in the palace. Neither Eowyn or Melia questioned how Arwen knew this intricate network of tunnels beneath the palace but supposed after all the dangers the queen had endured since taking up residence, it was probably sensible that she knew alternate means of escape in case of danger.

  
"Where does this go?" Melia asked as Arwen slung her sword over her back and began to climb up the ladder.

"With any luck, into the kitchen," Arwen answered with a grunt as she placed her hands on the filthy rungs and pulled herself up.

"We will be seen!" Eowyn returned but followed the queen nonetheless.

"I am hoping that they will be too busy with the preparations for the banquet to notice," Arwen replied as she ascended into the tunnel within the ceiling.

"You hope," Melia grumbled disliking the tenuous nature of their plan. Unfortunately, they had no other alternative.."

  
"Hope has nothing to do with this," Arwen said softly, "only luck."

None of them could disagree.

**********

 

Lothiriel had pleaded her case with her father until her throat was dry. She had continued to do so even after she had been seen out of the king’s presence by her father and given to guards to be escorted to the dungeons. She did not even know that the palace had dungeons to begin with although she was in no hurry to have this particular mystery satisfied. Lothiriel had tried earnestly to convince the guards leading her through the White Tower that the king and all the lords of Middle earth had been subjugated by some strange power but none would believe her. If anything, they seemed to regard her pleas as some fanciful tale conjured by a bored aristocrat.

She hated being so helpless and incapable of being of any help to those she loved. She thought of her father and remembered the stinging pain of her cheek thanks to the blow he had delivered to her. In his right mind, he would be horrified by his behavior because he was not a man who was intentionally unkind. Like all rulers, he had to be hard at times. One could not sit in authority and preside over the lives of so many by being weak and for so many years, Dol Amroth faced the same threats as Gondor from the evil of Mordor and its Easterling allies. Somehow, she could not be allowed to languish in a dungeon when the threat of what she knew still remained.

As Lothiriel was marched down the corridor with guards flanking her on either side, she considered what to do. She had to find the queen! Lothiriel remembered Arwen’s kindness and knew that an elf of her age would know what to do. There was the possibility that Arwen’s mind could have been similarly tainted as her king’s but it was the only plan that Lothriel had in mind. Unfortunately, while she remained in the custody of these men, she was no good to anyone.

There was only one thing to do. She had to escape.

She thought furiously the spells that she had conjured up in the past and was filled with a sense of chagrin at the memory of how none of them had worked. When she asked for snow, it rained. When she asked for a flower to blossom, the entire household staff fell asleep. She knew she had power to conjure and though it was nothing of the kind practiced by the Istari, it was also unfocussed and notoriously unreliable. Lothriel shook these thoughts out of her mind and forced herself to focus because she had to succeed in freeing herself.

She opted for the simplest spell possible. It was one that would allow the men marching her to the dungeon to fall asleep. She did not want to hurt anyone and she did not trust herself to attempt anything more complex. Lothriel was not blind to her lack of skill. Closing her eyes, she chanted the words softly, hoping for the best or in this case, for sleep.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. She knew that something was happening because she could feel the flutter through her that signaled her invocation was taking some measure of shape. However, there was no sign of drowsiness in any of the men surrounding her. Her lack of success suffused her being with anger and she hissed the words with more venom then intended.

Suddenly, the soldiers beside her doubled over in what appeared to be pain. Lothiriel felt her heart sink, realizing that she had done something terrible to them that would require her discovering how to undo it. However, when they dropped to their knees, clutching their stomachs and coughing loudly, it was soon clear that they were not in pain at all, rather in a state of extreme nausea. She could only stare wide eyed as they began retching at her feet, prompting the young woman to break away from them. For a brief instant, Lothriel did nothing but stare in dazed astonishment at what she had done as the men began emptying the contents of their stomach in rather disgusting fashion.

Well it was not sleep but it would do, she supposed.

Once she regained her sense, Lothiriel chose to take advantage of the spell she had cast and hurried down the hall, leaving behind her the soldiers who had larger concerns then her departure at the moment. She did not know where she was going as she put greater distance between herself and her captors, turning corners and running down darkened hallways away from the corridors that were filled with servants and other occupants of the palace. She was near the kitchen when she turned a corner and ran straight into someone else. The young woman fell promptly unto her rear.

"Lothiriel!" Lothiriel looked up at the voice uttering her name and saw the queen of Gondor staring at her.

"Your highness!" Lothiriel was just as amazed as she saw the queen standing before her, dressed in breeches and bearing a sword at her hip. Next to her, the lady Eowyn and Melia were in similar state of dress.

  
"What are you doing dressed like that?" Eowyn asked staring at Lothiriel’s own garments.

"I can guess," Melia retorted before she was able to answer.

"Let her speak," Arwen gave them both a look and helped the girl to her feet. "What are you doing Lothiriel? It is not safe to wander about the palace at this time. Something terrible is happening."

  
"I know!" Lothiriel exclaimed, feeling her entire soul filled with a sense of relief because it appeared that the queen was perfectly aware of what was happening with the king and the rest of the men. "You know about the king? He is under some kind of enchantment I am certain, they are nothing like themselves."

  
"Yes," Arwen nodded, trying to calm the girl down as she ranted her story. "We know. The king ordered us to be taken under custody."

"He told my father to put me in a dungeon!" Lothriel declared, grateful that she was not alone in this nightmare. "He would not even listen to what I had to say and when I finally convinced him to listen, he did not even care!"

"What you had to say?" Arwen’s brow arched in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Lothiriel took a deep breath and knew she had to reveal what she had been doing when she stumbled upon the Easterlings. Fortunately, it did not appear as if they were very surprised when she told them her story, at least until she had wandered unwittingly into the Easterling barracks that is. In anything, the lady Melia seemed to expect it.

"I saw them," she said breathlessly, "they did not know I was there but I saw them."

"What did you see?" Eowyn asked feeling this dreadful sense of foreboding knotting up her insides with each word Lothiriel spoke.

"The Easterlings," Lothiriel replied. "They are not Easterlings at all. They are shape shifters."


	6. The Face of the Enemy

 

No one could speak in the wake of Lothiriel’s revelation.

The three women stood in stony silence, allowing the words to sink into their consciousness despite the desperate hope that what Lothiriel claimed, was untrue. However, now that they were forced to accept what the young lady of Dol Amroth had revealed to be the truth, none could deny that finally, the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. The picture that they were now presented with at the unmasking of their enemy was one that made perfect sense. Unfortunately, knowing the identity of their opponent served only to drive home the magnitude of their predicament.

For an eternity of time, which in true reckoning was but a few seconds, the thoughts of each woman tumbled backwards into the events of the recent past. While their perspective may have differed, their memories of what had transpired before and how it had evolved in their present dilemma was more or less the same.

It was more than a year since the triumvirate had come together to battle the enemy at Nargothrond, the great dragon Glaurung. The beast known as the father of all dragons or Urloki, as they were once known, had been hiding in what remained of Nargothrond following the sinking of Beleriand following the War of the Wrath. Somehow, the underground city of Nargothrond, constructed by the Noldor elves as the central hub for a series of connecting caverns beneath the earth, had survive the collapse of Beleriand into the sea. Prior to the catastrophe, Glaurung had breached the walls of Nargothrond and it was from this ancient fortress, that he conspired to resurrect the evil lord Morgoth.

To this end, he had sought to use Arwen's unborn child to give his master form in the present world, to infuse Morgoth’s dark spirit into the infant while it slumbered in the womb. In a race against time to see that this did not come to pass, Arwen and Eowyn had set out from Minas Tirith determined to reach Glaurung before the babe born from her became the incarnation of Middle earth’s greatest foe. It was during this quest that they had encountered Melia, who was a Ranger of Angmar.

Following the War of the Ring, Aragorn decided that even if they were not all Dunedain, the Rangers were an important component of maintaining stability in his kingdom. Warriors who knew how to defend themselves, with a keen eye for trouble and an inherent desire to fight for the good of all were inducted into the service of the king and given the appellation of Ranger in homage to those who had battled Sauron for so long. In much the same way as the Dunedain before them, the new Rangers traveled the wilds of Middle earth, keeping their eyes open and ensuring that the king was provided with accurate intelligence of what was transpiring in his kingdom.

Melia had elected to join them in their quest because as a Ranger, her duty to the king compelled her to protect the queen as well and it was during the last leg of this journey, that they first encountered the shapeshifters. Shape shifters of skin changers as they were sometimes known were creatures thought to have been the creation of Morgoth during the First Age. Like the dragons and the Balrogs, the skin changers had emerged from Angband long before the Maia Arien guided Laurelin’s fruit to the stars to give birth to the first rays of sunlight upon Middle earth.

The skin changers, posing as Melia during their journey through the catacomb like tunnels to Nargothrond, were able to overcome the three women and bring them to their master Glaurung. If it were not for the timely arrival of the Fellowship led by Aragorn who was determined that Arwen would not face this peril without his presence, Glaurung’s dark plan would have come to pass. Following the battle erupted after the Fellowship had arrived, it was believed that the shape shifters had been destroyed along with Glaurung when Arwen called upon the powers of the Valar, Lord Ulmo to crumble the walls of Nargothrond. Barely escaping the destruction of Beleriand’s last stronghold, Arwen had had correctly assumed that the skin changers were buried under the sea along with their master.

However, there was never a true accounting of how many of the shadow things there were to begin with and since it was possible for them to assume any form, it was equally reasonable to believe that they could have escaped Nargothrond. Under the guidance of Glaurung and Morgoth, they were formidable enough enemies but unleashed to their own devices? Arwen did not even want to think about how much mischief they could cause.

"They were destroyed," Melia broke the silence by stating the obvious that none of them now believed to be true, "when Nargothrond fell to the sea, they were destroyed."

"We were never certain of that," Eowyn answered as if all the breath had left her body. There was no doubt in her mind that what Lothiriel had seen was indeed skin changers. Everything that was happening in Minas Tirith and with their husbands could be explained when one knew what they were dealing with. The skin changer that traveled with them to Nargothrond had roused no suspicions until it was too late. If the beast could assume Melia’s form so easily, there was no reason to think that it could not do the same for Aragorn or worse yet, Faramir. During the battle where Glaurung was defeated, they had attempted to deceive her by using that very disguise and until he had spoken, Eowyn had though it was her husband fighting at her side.

"You have encountered these creatures before?" Lothiriel stared at them with shock realizing that her revelation was not as much as a surprise as she thought it would be. Lothiriel knew what skin changers were, the hero Beorn was said to a skin changer but there were also other forms of skin changers. However, what information existed on these creatures were so steeped in folklore that there was some doubt to whether or not they truly existed. If Lothiriel had not seen them for herself, she would have found her story rather incredulous. Unfortunately, what she had seen was real and what was more, the queen and her companions knew it.

"Yes," Arwen nodded, trying to compose her thoughts after Lothiriel’s revelation although the situation was better understood now they knew their enemy. "During the celebration when news of Eldarion’s impending birth was announced, I learnt of a plot to bring him harm. Lady Eowyn and I traveled to the Blue Mountains and encountered an ancient evil to whom these creatures were in service. We brought an end to their master and we hoped that it would see their demise as well but it appears we were wrong."

"They must have escaped Nargothrond," Melia ventured a guess. "After we were away, they must have escaped through the tunnels the same way we did or perhaps even with us. With their ability to mask their true natures, it would have been easy to do so without our notice."

As much as Arwen could have liked to discuss the situation in the hopes of formulating a new strategy now that they knew what they were up against, there was little time to do so for her thoughts immediately sensed danger. Her eyes shifted swiftly to the corridor from which Lothiriel had appeared and knew that they would have company even before the sounds of the first footsteps were heard.

"They’re coming!" The words leaving her felt like a whisper but to everyone else, it was a shout.

The guards appeared around the corner, a handful of them pausing in surprise to find not one woman but four. Hands dropped immediately to their weapons for it was no longer the matter of retrieving a frightened girl but rather three very adept warriors who had seen almost as much battle as any soldier present.

"RUN!" Eowyn shouted, her cry of warning corresponding with the sound of one of the soldiers ordering them to halt.

Arwen wrapped her hand around Lothiriel who was only capable of gasping in fear and started running, dragging the young woman along the stone corridor as the Gondorian troops began their pursuit. Lothiriel allowed herself to be led, too frightened to do anything but adhere to the guidance of those wiser than her. Eowyn drew her sword but it was Melia who held her ground because she was in the best position to cover their retreat. The former Ranger armed her crossbow swiftly and wasted no more than a splinter of time before releasing the first steel bolt at their pursuers, giving her companions the time required to gain some distance in their flight.

"Go!" She ordered Eowyn who cast an anxious glance of concern at the Ranger but knew that this was not the time to linger when the enemy was approaching so quickly. Without saying anything further, the lady of Ithilien continued down the narrow passageway.

The first bolt that escaped Melia’s crossbow struck the wall, narrowly missing the lead guard though intentionally so. Melia had no wish to kill any one for these soldiers who were only following the orders of their king, unaware that he had been ensnared by a spell. They were certainly not the enemy. The sight of steel digging into stone abated their determination to give chase slightly as they paused briefly to reassess the manner in which they gave pursuit.

Unfortunately as much as Melia did not want to harm any of them, she knew that it would require a stronger incentive than a warning shot to convince them to desist in their chase. Arming the crossbow once more, she released a second and third bolt, striking flesh instead of stone. The duo leading the guards crumpled to their feet for she had continued to aim low, injuring their legs instead of their torsos which could result in fatal wounds. They toppled to the ground, their bodies offering sufficient obstacle to the others behind them when they fell.

"Melia! Come on!" Eowyn had paused long enough to call out, refusing to leave the Easterling behind.

  
Melia wasted no time heeding that demand and immediately lowered her weapon to join their friends in their hasty departure. No doubt the commotion they were causing would bring the rest of the palace guard in good time and the secrecy that they desired to move about the place was almost certainly impossible now. As if to confirm her fears, she could hear the footsteps of another contingent of guards approaching from down the hall even as she had discouraged one away. Voices began to fill the passageway indicating that their presence was being announced to those who did not already know they were there.

  
Looking over her shoulder as they entered a larger corridor with smaller passages emptying into it, Melia knew they could not maintain their freedom in such closed surroundings. There were too many servants in the hallways acting as obstacles to their flight. Their unpredictable reaction to the ongoing chase was making it hazardous for all parties concerned and exhausting Melia in the effort to ensure no innocents came to harm in the crossfire of their battle.

  
Appearing on the heels of these frantic thoughts were more guards who were shouting at her to stop, making claims that neither her nor her friends would come to harm if they surrendered now. For obvious reasons, Melia knew that was a promise they could not keep. The guards were merely soldiers and the safety they promised would last as long as it took for Arwen, Eowyn, Lothiriel and herself to be delivered to the king.

For the moment, the nature of the long bow and her own crossbow made it easier for her to shoot at them then it was for them to retaliate. Unfortunately, what they lacked in their inability to attack, they gained in their large numbers and in the final analysis, her supply of bolts was finite. It was entirely possible than in a matter of minutes; they could flood every hallway in the palace with so many soldiers that it would be impossible for her or her friends to remain at large.

"We have to get out of sight!" Melia shouted ahead, uncertain of whether or not Arwen could hear her as they raced up another corridor in the servant’s quarters.

It did not take long for Melia to realize that Arwen was leading them towards a stairway at the end of the hall which suited the Ranger well for they needed to leave this section of the palace before more soldiers arrived and overwhelmed them by sheer numbers. Arwen was clearing the way before her with her sword, while somehow ensuring that Lothiriel remained close at hand. She was determined to see that the young woman from Dol Amroth did not fall behind or through the chaos of their present circumstances be left behind. Among them, Lothiriel was the least capable of protecting herself and her older companions felt a wave of protectiveness towards the girl.

Thankfully, they reached the entrance to the stairway, illuminated by the window on its ceiling. It was narrow and spiraled in a corkscrew direction, ensuring that only one person could proceed at a time. Arwen entered the path of the winding staircase, ensuring that Lothiriel followed her directly. Eowyn remained behind them both, leaving Melia to guard their rear for she was best able to do so with her crossbow. For the moment, they seemed to have lost sight of the guards but the company could hear their eminent approach clearly.

What transpired next at the intersection of the corridor was the one thing Melia prayed would not happen.

"Mia," his silken voice brushed against her ear like a soft breath, bringing her race to staircase to an utter and complete half, almost against her will.

Melia froze in her steps and found herself compelled to turn around slowly. Fighting her instincts for self-preservation, Melia knew that if it were anyone else, she would not have been caught in this manner but not even a Ranger as experienced as she could avoid detection by an elf of his skill. But it was not merely his elven heritage that allowed him to find her, she was his mate and the bond that had been forged from their first coupling was forever. It would last beyond her death and follow him for the rest of his life. How could she think that he would not be able to find her when he would feel her even when she was dead?

"Prince," she found herself saying the crossbow that had been raised to shoot began to lower as he stood before her. When they faced each other like this, it was impossible for Melia to think that a spell could steal him away from her. She loved him beyond reason, despite all the tragedy that awaited them in the years ahead. All of it made worthwhile by the knowledge that he loved her just as dearly and would never hurt her.

Until now.

"What are you doing?" Legolas Greenleaf demanded as he approached her, his expression filled with concern and worry. Taking a step towards her, he seemed shocked when he saw her retreating backward with her crossbow raised once again, this time aimed firmly at him again in a clear warning to desist.

"What am  _I_  doing?" She demanded fighting the doubt that was filling her thoughts. "What you and the king are doing would be a more appropriate question. Eowyn and I were to be arrested under his orders!"

"Arrested!" He exclaimed with what seemed to Melia to be genuine shock. "Aragorn never issued such an order! He merely wanted to speak to both of you regarding some disturbing news he had received about the queen."

"Such requests would have been better served without the presence of armed guards," Melia retorted sharply but inwardly she was wrestling with her conscience. There was so much sincerity in his voice that Melia almost believed him but she was still unconvinced that this was not some kind of deception. For all she knew, he could be a skin changer. However, her husband did not appear as if he were under any enchantment and if he was not, then perhaps the situation was not as desperate as they believed.

"Mia," he met her gaze in earnest. "I love you and I would never stand by and allow any harm to come to you, not even if he were the king of Gondor or the  _world_ for that matter. Do you believe that I could allow you to be harmed when I have so few years with you as it is? We have a finite time on this earth together; I would squander none of it. Please believe me, I only want to clarify this entire situation, not make it worse."

Melia knew this was a trap.

  
She needed desperately to believe that it was but her heart would not allow it. As he spoke his words of love for her, she felt her good judgement sway and the weapon in her hand lowered when her legs betrayed her and moved towards him. Going to him, she saw his handsome face break into a smile, the same smile that had won her heart when she had been so determined to keep him at arm’s length. His eyes danced with all the light of the stars as they met in an embrace and greeted each other with a kiss of heated passion. When he held her in his arms, the accomplished woman she was disappeared and she was happy to be the girl in love with her prince.

A part of her issued caution but Melia was never sensible when it came to Legolas.

"Is this a trap?" she asked softly when their lips pulled away.

Legolas lifted his chin, meeting her eyes before he spoke, "I am afraid so."

She nodded slowly, her eyes glistening with tears as she looked at him, knowing deep down inside that he was not the only one guilty of deception, that she too, had deceived herself for a brief second into believing that he was the man she loved, not someone else’s puppet.

"1 hope you forgive me," she spoke with words of anguish, "if I do what I must."

Legolas opened his mouth to respond when suddenly the twang of a crossbow replaced his words with a sharp cry of pain. Melia closed her eyes as she heard him utter it stepping back as the bolt speared him through the thigh and forced him away from her.

"Whore!" He growled at her as he clutched his bleeding leg while she began to weep before him. "I gave you every chance to come with me willingly but no more! GUARDS!"

His voice almost feral and coming form an elf known for his ability to mask his emotions, the naked rage in his eyes shook Melia to the core. Drying her eyes, she heard the footsteps of soldiers who had been lying in wait while the prince attempted to subdue his wife with deception instead of force. However, his failure changed their surveillance into ambush and Melia turned on her heels to flee.

"I am sorry. When this is over, you will understand that I was compelled to this course," she declared once more, anguish in her voice as she moved past him and tried not to be affected by the sight of her husband clutching his bleeding thigh.

The bolt that penetrated his skin was embedded in the floor where he had been standing. The proximity of the target when she released the bolt had sent it through his leg and out again.

"You are not going anywhere!" He shouted and lunged for her. Even though he was injured, his reflexes and his strength were still stronger than hers and he wrapped his fist around her ankle before she could escape his reach. Pulling back forcefully, he tore Melia off her feet and sent her to the ground face first.

Her head slammed hard against the ground, causing stars to appear before her eyes in a wave of dizziness. Warm blood escaped her split lip and down her nose. Despite the pain, she knew that in seconds she would be caught unless she got to her feet immediately. Unfortunately, his grip upon her was viselike and she did not think he would let go. Struggling hard to regain her balance as she tried to escape, Melia felt as if she were swimming in mud. She caught a glimpse of his eyes and saw two orbs of black onyx staring back at him where there should have been the blue of the sea.

Arwen was right, she thought with anguish, he was no longer her husband but a shape shifter’s creature.

"You will not escape this time wife," Legolas hissed and the manner, in which he spoke the word ‘wife’, was like a curse that made her skin crawl.

"I think she will," Eowyn’s voice interjected suddenly.

She punctuated her statement by bringing down the hilt of her sword against the back of his skull. Legolas did not have time to utter a sound as she knocked him unconscious and left him on the floor in a dead heap. Without pausing to draw breath, Eowyn was soon at her side, helping Melia to her feet before the guards reached them. Although she was still disorientated, Melia followed Eowyn’s lead as they ran into the entrance of the stairway. Eowyn paused long enough to seal the door behind her though the wooden beam across it would not hold for long. Still it would give them enough time to put more distance between themselves and the soldiers pursuing them.

"Are you alright? You are bleeding," Eowyn said breathlessly with concern at the crimson smear across Melia’s lips and running down her nose as they hurried up the stairs.

Her head was still throbbing from its impact against the stone floor but Melia’s greatest injuries were emotional, not physical. Wiping away the blood with her sleeve, she nodded quickly and gave response to Eowyn’s question, "it is nothing that will not heal. I am well enough to follow you."

"Good," Eowyn replied with clear relief. "When I saw that you were not behind us, I thought I had better find you."

"I am grateful that you did," Melia replied softly. She was more distressed by the whole encounter than she would like to admit but this was not the time to discuss it in depth. "I was a fool, I knew it was a trap but I could not help. I wanted desperately to believe that he was still my prince."

"I would not have behaved any differently if it were Faramir," Eowyn said sympathetically and wondered how she would fare when the enemy decided to use Faramir against her. "Arwen was right, they would not be above using our feelings for our husbands against us. I do not look forward to facing Faramir when the time comes."

"I would like to think we might have found a way to break the spell before that moment came," Melia replied as she continued to follow Eowyn up the staircase.

Eowyn’s answer was interrupted by the sound of something heavy smashing hard against the sealed door. The explosion of noise filled the passageway as both women cast their gaze downwards and saw the door shuddering against the beam that kept it barricaded. The weight against the door had yet to buckle the beam keeping it sealed but judging by the force of the pounding, it would not be long before it yielded completely.

"We had better find a way fast," Eowyn said grimly, "I do not relish having to face my husband in battle."

Or worse yet, having to defeat him.

* * *

 

Her purpose in returning to the palace had been simple enough; to reach one of the men who were enchanted by the skin changer spell in the hopes of finding some way of breaking the control over their minds. Unfortunately, that proved impossible now since it appeared that any hope of a covert entry into the palace ended the moment, Lothiriel joined their company. Arwen did not blame the girl for their present situation, only regretted that their plan had gone astray and the situation was gaining such fierce momentum that it appeared it would be sometime before they could catch their breaths and formulate a new one.

At the present however, Arwen would be grateful if they could just make it out of the palace without being captured. After leading her friends through the winding staircase to the upper levels of the White Tower, Arwen had hoped to gain a little respite as they decided what they would do with the news Lothiriel had brought them. Unfortunately, they were intercepted at almost every point and it became apparent to Arwen that they were being driven to the very top of the castle. This disturbed her greatly because it seemed the enemy had a plan and was better able to execute it then the frantic flight she, Eowyn and Melia had been undertaking until now.

It was rather chilling that she and her friends were fighting for their lives when outside the window of their present location, people were celebrating, unaware that their kingdom was in dire peril. Fireworks exploded in the night sky, fiery blooms bringing the dark canvas to life in vibrant shades of color. People were celebrating throughout Minas Tirith and in the palace itself, oblivious to what was happening because they were driven to the highest tower, out of sight and mind of those demanded secrecy for their covert invasion of the Citadel.

"Watch out!" Eowyn’s words of caution sliced through her consciousness as one of the guards they were battling swung a blade in her direction. It appeared that the determination to capture them alive was no longer a consideration. Why should it when they were skin changers involved? The foul creatures could just as easily assume their forms if she or any of her friends were killed, with no one the wiser until it was too late.

Arwen dodged the swing of the sword easily enough and lashed out with her own. With elven reflexes, she was able to move faster and her blade met her opponents with a sharp clang. The soldier she was fighting was uncertain, she could sense it from him. He was fighting her in earnest but she could tell that he was confused as to why he was doing it. She was after all until this morning, his queen and the beloved wife of his king.

"Do you not think it is strange that you find yourself in this position?" She asked as she held her sword against his and shoved back hard.

He stumbled a little but not enough to be at a disadvantage. The man did not answer and Arwen suspected it was because he had no response to give that would make sense to her or to himself. She closed in on him, taking advantage of his momentary lapse to disarm him. She had no desire to kill him but she was not about to be captured either. In a swift flick of her wrist and far more dexterity then he was capable, Arwen’s blade circled his and tore the weapon from his hand. The blade clattered to the floor noisily.

"Pick it up Lothiriel!" Arwen ordered.

Lothiriel who had spent much of the battle in a corner, remaining out of the way of those capable of fighting it, emerged quickly from her hiding place, determined not to fail the queen who had protected her so far. She grasped the weapon in her hand as Arwen closed in on the soldier she had been fighting, making Lothiriel wish that she had spent some time learning the sword. It never seemed like a necessary skill to learn, not when she was a lady of Dol Amroth and her father had at his disposal an army with which he protected his realm and his family.

"Withdraw," Arwen ordered as she held the point of her sword against the man’s throat. He had been forced against the wall now that he was unarmed and stared at her with the same uncertainty, that he was at a loss to understand why she was his enemy.

"I cannot," he stammered.

"Are you in a hurry to die?" she hissed with uncharacteristic venom.

"No," he swallowed, "I have orders to remain here."

Arwen did not like the sound of this at all.

"Why?" She demanded suspiciously.

"Arwen," Eowyn who had been battling her own opponent’s suddenly spoke.

Arwen shifted her gaze momentarily from the soldier to the lady of Ithilien. She and Melia had been fighting the rest of the soldiers sent after them and the floor was littered with their successes, some either on the floor unconscious or wounded. However, Arwen began to understand what her own opponent had meant when he was told to remain here in this juncture at the top of the tower. How had she not felt him?

"Undomiel," Aragorn replied and this time he was carrying Anduril in his hand as he approach. She could not bring herself to wield his weapon against it and left the blade when she had taken flight from their apartments. The king was dressed as if he were prepared to entertain guests but the look in his eyes was anything but cordial.

"You do not have the right to call me that name," Arwen hissed, noting that there was no one with him but she did not think they were very far behind. No doubt they were waiting for their king to give the order to proceed. "You are not my Estel."

"I am your husband," he repeated himself. "And you have stolen my son. I will know where he is."

  
"You are not my husband," she returned sharply, hating to say these words but love for him did not alter the truth. "You are a shape shifter’s creature and you will never get your hands upon our son while their stink is upon you!"

"I am no one’s creature!" He snapped sharply but his rage did not hide his own confusion. Whatever the enchantment was upon him, it did not appear to make him aware that he was under someone else’ sway. It was an insidious spell, Arwen decided and when she freed him of it, she would make her displeasure known to those who had cast it upon him.

"Aragorn," Arwen looked at him dead in the eye, "you are not yourself and until you are yourself, this will not end. I will do what I can to help you but I will not allow your master to destroy everything that we have fought so hard to build."

"You do not have the strength to stand against me wife," he raised his blade and Arwen felt her heart sink because even with her skill, she could not match him in swordplay. There was not a person in the entire kingdom that could.

"She does not have to," Melia replied aiming her crossbow at the base of his skull.

"Will you shoot me Ranger?" He asked coldly, his gaze still fixed on Arwen, tearing layers of skin off her flesh with the distance in eyes. "Will you do the same to me as you did to your prince?"

"I will do what I must to protect the queen," Melia answered firmly.

"As will I," Eowyn raised her sword to his neck. "I do not wish to fight you Aragorn, but we will if we must."

"You have nowhere else to go," Aragorn answered unperturbed by the momentary stalemate. "My warriors are waiting for my signal to proceed. They will become impatient in time if I do not speak and will surely come to their king’s aid. Do you intend to fight them all? You have been admirably attempting to keep from harming any of their number but what if they do not have the same consideration for you? You have stolen the crown prince from his bed and threatened your king, that is a treasonable offence. Men are put to death for less."

  
Arwen swallowed and stared at her husband, feeling her heart break inside her chest as she told herself that this was not his fault or him for that matter. However, the piercing gaze that stared back at her made it hard to be so objective.

"Arwen, take Lothiriel and go!" Eowyn ordered, painfully aware of what her friend must be enduring at this instant but unable to afford her the time to adjust. Melia had almost been captured for the same weakness and Eowyn was not about to let Arwen fall into the same trap.

Arwen nodded wildly, tearing her eyes away from her husband because being in Estel’s presence would only make it more difficult to think clearly and they needed her to be focussed if any of them were to survive their present dilemma. Her eyes moved across the hallway and saw that there was only one way to go. The end of the corridor from which Estel had emerged were no doubt filled with waiting guards while the door she was had selected as her escape route had no alternate means of entry save one and she was still uncertain how they were going to manage that little miracle. Unfortunately, it was the only route that offered the slightest chance of escape.

"This is not over," Arwen said finally as she retreated, "I will have my husband back."

"That," he stared at her sharply, "I can guarantee you will have though not in the way you envision madam."

"Come on," Lothiriel said taking the initiative by pulling Arwen forward, seeing the anguish in the eyes of her queen and knowing that nothing would be served with the continuation of this debate.

  
As Arwen and Lothiriel drew away, Aragorn suddenly lashed out at Melia, knowing that of the two women holding their weapons at him, the lady Ranger would have the most difficulty reacting to anything unexpected. When Melia had taken positioned behind him, she had aimed her crossbow at his neck and unless she intended to kill him, Aragorn doubted she would shoot without first readjusting her aim to ensure that he was not harmed grievously. The ball of his foot struck the side of her foot, immediately driving her to the ground on her knees. He retreated from Eowyn long enough to escape the edge of her blade and when she came after him, Anduril was already raised and waiting.

Melia cursed under her breath as she saw Aragorn and Eowyn facing each other in battle. It did not take long for the commotion to attract the guards that had been lying in wait for the king’s signal. The ranger wasted no time contending with this new threat and was grateful that Legolas was not leading them. She supposed that after the injury she had given him, it was likely that he was in the House of Healing being tended to. She immediately laid down a relentless barrage of bolts, ensuring that the warriors attempting to apprehend did not progress far enough along the corridor to reach them.

  
"Melia run!" Eowyn ordered as she faced Aragorn.

  
"What about you?" The ranger demanded, not at all happy to be leaving the lady of Ithilien who had come to her rescue earlier.

"GO!" Eowyn’s curt response answered her question and Melia struggled briefly before she realized that she did not have enough for bolts for a renewed assault upon the guards when they finally recovered enough to give pursuit or if more followed. Cursing the logic of the situation, Melia had no choice but to do as Eowyn asked and ran for the doorway in which Arwen and Lothiriel had gone.

In the meantime, Eowyn was having difficulties of her own, finding herself face to face with Aragorn with swords drawn. As confident as she was in her ability to handle a weapon, Eowyn could not deny the sliver of doubt that was driving its way into her mind that perhaps she could not win against the man she had once loved and still felt more than she should, even now.

"Aragorn," Eowyn looked at him desperately, "do not bring us to this."

"It is not I that brings us to this predicament my lady," Aragorn said aloofly, sounding far too menacing for her liking. "You need only lay down your sword and end this without bloodshed."

"I seriously doubt that," Eowyn answered, realizing that they were going to do battle. There was no avoiding it. "You are not yourself my king and I cannot allow your masters to gain a foothold of Middle earth."

"I am no one’s creature!" Aragorn snapped and stabbed his blade in her direction. Eowyn barely had time to side step it and swing her own weapon to deflect it from her. Slamming her sword against the steel of his, she rotated her wrist in a tight circle and attempted to disarm him. Unfortunately, Aragorn was too good a swordsman to fall for that and he returned her strike with one of his own. There was so much power beneath his blade that Eowyn was driven backward and his speed in retracting Anduril gave her little time to recover. She ducked to avoid being stuck when he parried hard, forcing an equally practiced riposte from her.

"You are skilled with a sword Lady of Ithilien," Aragorn remarked as they pulled back from one another. "However, there is more to battle then just sword play."

He came at her again and Eowyn moved to block the strike, however, the instant her blade connected with Anduril, Aragorn’s free hand clamped around the wrist holding her sword. He pulled her forward in one swift movement and slammed his forehead against hers. As Eowyn doubled back in pain and disorientation, she felt the back of his knuckle striking the side of her face. The blow was powerful enough to send her sprawling. She would have fallen to the floor if not for the fact that she hit the wall first. Her head smacked painfully against the brick and Eowyn had barely sense to see that he was coming at her again.

She dodged the punch that would have rendered her unconscious if it were allowed to connect to her face. Slipping out of his reach, Eowyn collected herself enough to kick hard after he had swung, landing her foot firmly against his ribs. Aragorn uttered a little grunt of pain but it effected him no more then that because he lunged towards her in a full body tackle. Both of them landed on the ground, Eowyn bearing the brunt of their unceremonious landing since his weight was on top of her. Eowyn struggled to escape him but his grip around her body was strong and she found herself kicking him to get free.

Breathing hard, Eowyn crawled away on all fours when she felt his hands on her ankle. Before she could pull away, he had dragged her back to him, despite her frantic efforts to escape. He moved far swifter then she could possibly imagine and wondered that if all those years living in Rivendell had perhaps given him a little elvish speed because before she could even think to react, he had both her hands pinned to the ground.

  
"Give in Madam," Aragorn hissed as he kept firm grip upon her hands. "Give in and you may survive this."

"NO!" Eowyn shouted and brought her knee up as high as it would go, slamming it into Aragorn’s spine, unseating him just enough for her to twist hard and throw him off her body. Bleeding from where she had fallen and from where he had hit her, Eowyn saw him regaining his balance and turning a menacing gaze at her. For the first time since this all began, she felt herself gripped with fear. The emotion made her run even though she should have considered her action first.

Aragorn intercepted her easily, throwing a fist into her side and filling the room with the satisfied crack of ribs. Eowyn cried out in pain and doubled over, halted in mid step by the brutal attack and looked up in time to catch a fist square in the face. All the strength left her then as she collapsed to the floor, blood spurting out of her nose, her ribs stabbing at her in white-hot agony. She landed on her side and saw him standing over her but the desire to fight back was gone, there was only one thought in her mind and that was to run.

Struggling to her feet, Eowyn made a dash to get past but Aragorn was not fast enough to by him. Fortunately, she did not need to.

"Aragorn!" Melia called out and caught the attention of the Gondorian king.

Aragorn turned and around and smashed in the face with Melia’s crossbow. He staggered backwards but in no way did Melia believe the threat of him was ended. Dropping low, she threw out her leg in a wide arch and swept him off his feet. The former Ranger collapsed unto the floor hard and Melia wasted no time hurrying to Eowyn.

"You were supposed to go.." Eowyn said weakly as Melia began to drag her away from the momentarily stunned king.

"Fortunately I listen about as well as you do," Melia quipped as she shut the door behind them and barricaded it with a chair though she did not think that it would hold for very long.

"Where are we going?" Eowyn asked grimacing in pain whilst still clutching what she was certain to be broken ribs.

"There is only one way out of this tower," Melia answered grimly, "other than surrendering."

Eowyn did not like the sound of this.

"How?"

* * *

Lothiriel looked down and flinched when she could not see the ground. They were  _that_  far away from it. She gave Arwen a frightened look as the wind whipped in her hair and chilled her skin, hoping that the queen was making a jest. Surely, she could not be serious about taking this course. Within reach, the standard of the city fluttered in majestic glory as it had done since the construction of the White Tower or the more appropriately the Tower of Ecthelion. The ropes that kept it secured were long enough for the purpose that Arwen desired.

"We will be killed!" She exclaimed as she saw Arwen stealing the ropes that kept the banner in place.

"We will be killed if we remain here and allow ourselves to be captured," Arwen said paying little attention to the girl because she was focussed too much on getting them off this tower. The rope was long enough to suit their purposes though the descent would be by no means easy. It was certainly not enough to reach the ground but it would take them to a lower level in the tower, possibly avoiding the guards for a time.

  
"Perhaps they will not harm us," Lothiriel offered desperately, looking over the edge of the tower roof and finding her head spinning at just the notion of descending its length. She knew she was making excuses and was ashamed of it but she had never been in such a situation of peril in her entire life.

"I seriously doubt that," Melia retorted as she and Eowyn stepped onto the roof with them.

"Eowyn!" Arwen let out a gasp when she saw Melia’s arms securely around Eowyn’s body, helping her to stand. "What happened?"

"I am afraid I found out first hand why your husband strikes fear into his enemies," Eowyn muttered as she took a moment to rest after Melia had set her down and was finding some way to barricade the entrance behind them.

"Estel did this to you?" Arwen asked in dismay. "Oh Eowyn I am so sorry!"

"It is not your fault or his," Eowyn replied quickly, "he is under the spell of the enemy and he has always been a formidable warrior in battle."

Arwen did not what else to say. She was horrified at Eowyn’s state and uncertain that with the lady’s injuries, she could manage the feat that Arwen was about to ask her. Climbing down a length of rope was a physically exhausting exercise as it was. "Melia, can you climb rope?"

Melia nodded quickly, aware of Arwen’s plan and understanding that some modification was going to be needed to compensate for Eowyn’s injuries and Lothiriel’s lack of physical strength. "I can manage. What about you?"

"In three thousand years of life, I have been called on to undertake that particular skill," Arwen replied. "Eowyn, you and Lothiriel will have to be lowered. I can see no other way that you can descend this tower."

"Lowered?" Eowyn’s eyes widened and then realized where they were. "You must be joking!"

"This is hardly the time for that," Arwen retorted resuming her preparations for the undertaking. Even as she answered, she heard the distant sound of door being pounded into opening. It would not take them long to breach their refuge. "We do not have the luxury of time and this is the only way. The library is within reach of the rope and it is a seldom traversed part of the palace. From there I believe we can make our way down the tower and leave the way we came."

"Leave?" Eowyn looked at her. "I thought you wanted to capture one of them."

"At this stage, I would be happy if we left the White Tower in one piece," Arwen replied. "We must think of another plan."

"Yes," Lothriel declared. "You must go and stop those skin changers from entering the palace. They were disguised as Gondorian soldiers meaning they could already be inside the Citadel.

"One thing at a time," Melia retorted, gazing over the edge of the roof at the colorful celebrations below and wondered how they had come to this. She did not relish the idea of climbing down the tower, even if it was to a window on the lower level but at this moment, they had little choice but to act. Their pursuers would soon discern that there were not many places they could hide.

Arwen tied the end of the rope around a stone gargoyle perched at the edge of the tower and tested the strength of the knot. It appeared as if it would hold although she wished she could be more certain of that fact when it she was gambling with her friends lives on its strength. Once secured, she turned to her companions again.

"Eowyn, you will go first," Arwen spoke into tones that did not sound like a request but rather an order. "Secure this around your waist. The rest of us will lower you down."

Eowyn gave her a dubious glance as she took the rope and tied it around herself, appearing less than confidence that this entire enterprise would not see her dashed to the ground in a gruesome end. "I hope you are certain about this."

"Think of it this way," Melia joked. "If she is mistaken, you will be the first among us to find out."

* * *

Eowyn had gone first, protesting most of the way over the edge though none that were holding the rope could blame her for her trepidation. Even though the rope was tied securely around the gargoyle, the others held the rope and allowed her to be lowered off the roof for as far as it would take. Time crawled with the pacing of eternity as the weight tugged at the end of the rope, the further they allowed it to descent. Arwen was unaware that she was holding her breath until she felt two sharp tugs, which indicated that Eowyn had reached the ledge of the library window safely.

Lothiriel was unafraid to voice her concerns as she secured the rope around her waist but she was conditioned to obey her superiors and the queen certainly fell under that category. Trembling like a leaf in the wind as she was released into windy void beyond the edge of the roof, she clutched the rope so tightly in her hands that Arwen could see her knuckles turning white. Her outright terror did not escape either the queen or the lady of Eden Ardhon and while they felt for her plight, they could not allow her to avoid it. Once she was however lowered, she bore it silently and inspired the admiration of her companions by keeping calm during the nerve wracking ordeal.

"You should go first," Melia instructed Arwen.

"This was my idea," Arwen declared firmly. "You have risked yourselves enough for me on this occasion and more often then I can count. Do not argue with me on this matter Melia, I wish you to go first."

"They are close Arwen," Melia protested, aware that the shuddering sound of wood breaking a short time ago was their pursuers breaking through one of the barricades Melia had put in their way during the journey here.

"I know," Arwen nodded. "That is why you must go now."

Melia could offer no other argument and there was not enough time for a protracted debate. Thus she did the only thing she could, she obeyed.

Arwen lowered Melia in the same way that she had done to Lothiriel and Eowyn, ignoring the pain of the rope as it burned into her skin from the weight she was required to carry alone. For what seemed longer than ever before, she carefully lowered the ranger down the length of the tower, her heart pounding in anticipation of the signal that would tell her that Melia had crossed the distance safely. The sounds of breaking wood and excited voices were becoming louder in the background and Arwen realized that she would be very lucky indeed if she could make the same journey before the soldiers reached the roof.

As if in answer to her quandary, she felt the weight at the end of the rope slackened, followed by two sharp pulls. Arwen let out a sigh of relief and pulled the rope up towards her again. As soon as she had its end in her hands, she tied it around herself securely and went to the ledge. Until she found herself at the edge of the periphery, did she realize what a long way it was to the ground. She chided herself for doing so because it served no purpose other than to make her more nervous then she already was. Pulling the rope tight, she stepped over the edge and descended.

The wind whipped at her mercilessly but even as she began the downward climb, she heard the shattering of wood that was the door to the roof. She moved faster than she thought possibly, hoping to make good distance before they discovered her. Her arms ached from the exertion, gravity pulling against muscle and grip to drag her into oblivion. She did not remember this task being so arduous and supposed that several centuries could temper the experience somewhat.

  
"Arwen!" She looked up and heard Aragorn’s voice.

She was almost to the window where the others were waiting for her anxiously. They were nearly close enough to touch but when she heard Aragorn’s voice, she knew that they might as well have been ten thousand leagues away. She saw Aragorn barking orders at his men and that they were pulling the rope upwards, dragging her to him. If she fell into his hands, she would lose him forever and Middle earth would fall under the shadow of new Dark Age, almost as terrible as the one might have ensued if Sauron had taken back the Master Ring.

She could not allow that to happen.

"Melia!" Arwen looked down at the ranger.

Their eyes met and in that split second of time, Melia understood what it was her queen was asking of her. Her first thought was to refuse, her second to gaze down at the height they would be risking with the gamble Arwen would have her make.

"Lothiriel, Eowyn," Melia swallowed thickly, "hold onto my legs."

It took Eowyn a second to realize what she intended. "ARE YOU INSANE?"

"Yes," Melia nodded, too numb to offer any other response. She pushed herself out as far over the ledge of the window as she could, with Eowyn and Lothiriel maintaining a secure grip on her.

"Arwen! Now!" She cried out, allowing herself no time to prepare mainly because there was no preparing for something like this and if she failed, it would most likely kill them both.

Arwen sucked in her breath and whispered to herself, "what I am enduring for this man!"

Then she let go.

There was a rush of air and her own screams filled her ears as she plunged downward, stark horror coursing through her. Panic rushed up from inside her being and consumed her whole in the terrifying seconds that followed her release of the rope. She did not know how long she fell but when she felt arms making a powerful grab for her body, it felt like it was forever. The velocity of her drop tore her out of Melia’s reach and there was a moment of blind terror when she thought that their gambit had failed, that she was going to fall and die without saving her husband or her son. However, that moment passed swiftly when hand clenched around her wrist with stubborn refusal to let her go.

Arwen stared upwards and saw Melia almost hanging out of the window, her face strained with effort as she maintained her hold of Arwen’s wrist.

"Hold on!" she cried out and tried to extend her other hand towards Arwen.

Using all the strength that she possessed, the queen of Gondor forced herself to reach the outstretched hand, fighting the weight of her own body as her muscles screamed for relief at the torturous burden. Their fingers met readily enough and Melia closed her hand around Arwen’s getting a firmer grip as Lothiriel and Eowyn dragged them both to safety. It was difficult to say who was more ravaged by the experience, Arwen for dangling off the edge of disaster like a meat on a hook or Melia at the unimaginable possibility of allowing her to fall by failing her queen.

For a few seconds after the ordeal had passed, the four women could only lay there, breathing hard and thanking whatever deities were appropriate for the occasion at their continued survival.

Eowyn spoke first, allowing her gaze to sweep over her companions before stating, "Arwen, the next time you invite Faramir and I to a celebration at the palace, you will forgive me if I decline."


	7. Hidden Talents

 

The library had seen better years.

For a time, it had been the favored refuge of Denethor’s youngest son, providing him sanctuary when he required solace from the emotional wounds inflicted upon him by his father. It was in this place, that Faramir, briefly Steward of Gondor and presently Prince of Ithilien, had discovered the world was more than the White City and the knowledge of the ages could aid him in his journey to manhood. It was the place he told Eowyn, where he had come to dream and to hope that someday he would be a man worthy of Denethor’s affection.

In his absence, the library had been forgotten by most of the occupants of the White Tower. Denethor was a learned man but had the books most valued to him; moved to the treasury for he had his own agenda to fulfil and he did not wish to share it. Since Faramir’s departure, the library had been mostly ignored and the new king had greater matters to deal with then the restoration of one section of his household. Covered with a thick veneer of dust and filled with the musty smell of old books, the beam of light entering the room through the window illuminated the fine particles in the air and made it appear as if fireflies had taken up residence within its confines.

The four women took their rest in silence following their spectacular arrival into the library, listening to the whistle of wind outside the window and their own slowing breaths. Each were trying to gain some balance after being understandably shaken following their encounter with Aragorn and Legolas, not to mention escaping the relentless pursuit by their enemies. Arwen found her gazed fixed on Eowyn, who appeared to have endured the worst of this chase, having found herself pitted against Aragorn in combat. Arwen wondered if Eowyn knew how fortunate she was to have survived the encounter.

Melia did not speak much about her confrontation with Legolas but the anguish in her eyes was unmistakable. Arwen suspected that a small part of Melia had been clinging to the hope that this was all a terrible mistake, that Legolas was not stolen from her in this terrible manner. Until she faced the prince herself and saw that he was indeed enchanted, Melia had not truly believed. Unfortunately, the prince’s actions during that encounter left no further doubt in Melia’s mind and it told greatly by the sorrow Arwen saw in her eyes.

"We cannot linger here long," Arwen finally broke the silence in their darkened surroundings. It was not safe to lit the room for it would be a clear indicator of their occupancy. "It will not take them long to discern where we have gone."

"I know," Eowyn nodded as she tried to conceal the pain she felt, each time she made any movement. The grinding of broken ribs against each other brought a wave of nausea to the pit of her stomach that was making it harder and harder to keep from gagging in disgust.

"Let me look," Melia scrambled across the floor they were seated on, towards her.

"I will be fine," Eowyn returned bravely but all those present could see that she was not.

"I cannot believe the king did that to you," Lothiriel shook her head, clearly disturbed by Aragorn’s behavior though it should not have been a surprise. "He seemed so nice at the feast when my father and I first arrived," she added, thinking that night felt as if it were years in the past at the moment.

"It is not him," Arwen said quickly, bound to defend her king even though she was wrestling with her own shock at what he had done, "it is the spell."

"I think we need to leave the palace," Melia remarked as she examined the bruising on Eowyn’s side. "Eowyn needs to recover. I am certain that she has broken some ribs."

"I will manage," Eowyn insisted, though she knew her efforts to be brave were seen through clearly.

"I have no doubt that you will try," Arwen said warmly, "but you must allow yourself to heal if you are to be of any use to us in freeing the men from this enchantment."

Eowyn frowned unhappily at Arwen’s words but she could not deny them. The queen was right, in Eowyn’s present state, she was a liability to them. Eowyn was too experienced a warrior to be able to fly in the face of this truth. Unfortunately, the realization did not assuage her guilt at being a hindrance to her friends in this crucial hour.

"I dislike it immensely when you are right," she frowned.

  
"Especially when it occurs so often," Melia quipped in an effort to break the tension at this unhappy understanding of their situation.

"Quiet you," Arwen threw the former ranger a good-natured warning.

Her notice however, soon shifted to Lothiriel who appeared more shaken then the rest of the company in light of what they had just endured. Arwen found herself remembering that Lothiriel had little experience with her life being placed in such peril and under the circumstances, the young woman had held up admirably under the strain. Still, it did appear as if cracks were beginning to form in her fortitude.

"Lothiriel," Arwen turned to Lothiriel who was wearing a worried expression of her face as her eyes darted around their surroundings, reacting to any sound or movement that captured her attention. Arwen’s call brought her gaze towards the queen and her frightened expression lingered still.

"Are you alright?" Arwen asked gently.

"Yes," Lothiriel nodded a little too quickly. "This is all very overwhelming. I have never been in the danger I have seen today and the thought that my father and the king are now under the spell of some skin changer, frightens me more than I say."

"You have kept your wits about you nonetheless," Melia said encouragingly, "that is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Precisely," Arwen added her voice to the show of support to further empower Lothiriel to believe in herself and her ability to endure. "We will think of someway to free our loved ones, be assured of that."

"Do you know what sort of spell it is?" Lothiriel asked after a moment, feeling the boost in her own confidence at the encouraging words of those around her.

"No," Arwen shook her head. "It is no doubt an ancient one and powerful for I have seen these skin changers once attempting to bring back Morgoth from the void."

"Are they the kind of conjurers who are able to simply speak a spell to make it work as the Maiar are able or are they lesser mages that require words or hand gestures?"

Arwen looked at the girl, rather surprised by the intelligence behind the question and considered her answer carefully before she answered. When she had been at Nargothrond and the shape shifters had attempted to infuse her unborn babe with Morgoth’s spirit; they had used a chant to make their spell of darkness come alive.

"Words," Arwen answered looking Lothiriel in the eye, curious as to what the young woman would do with that information.

"Words," Lothiriel absorbed quietly and then remarked, almost without being aware of her speaking it. "That is fortunate for that means they are not as powerful as we think. Were there able to cast spells by thought alone, there is no way we could defeat them unless one of the Istari was present. Mages who used word spells are dangerous but not invincible. We must find the exact spell, for this kind of conjuring usually requires some form of catalyst. Spells that seek to tamper with the mind such as the one cast over the king and all the leaders of the Middle earth cannot simply be spoken. It is extremely difficult to affect the power of will with worlds alone, there must be some agent in place that allow the spell to reach its end. It must be something close to the body, something that can be worn against the skin, like a bracelet, a pendant or even a ring. Isildur’s Bane was said to have such power over mind."

When Lothiriel did not receive an answer from the others, she looked up in question and found that the eyes of the queen, the ladies of Ithilien and Eden Ardhon were fixed upon her in unhidden amazement.

"Lady Lothiriel of Dol Amroth," Melia spoke first, "I believe there is something you need to tell us about how you know so much about magic."

Lothiriel swallowed anxiously, afraid of how they would react if she should reveal the truth but then realized that this was a rather a moot point after ruminating out loud for all to hear. "You will not tell my father? He would be most upset if he learns I spoke of this outside the family."

"I think at this point, you have little to worry about," Eowyn declared with a grunt as she reacted to Melia’s efforts to bind her ribs with what material they had at hand.

"I want to be a wizard," Lothiriel confessed. "I have studied magic and sorcery all my life and I think I can be a good one if only I had the instruction of an Istar. I wanted to go Isengard to learn under the tutelage of the mages left there by the Grey Pilgrim but my father does not understand. He says that I do not have the skill but I know I do, it is just that the spells I perform do not always appear as intended."

"What do you mean do not appear as intended?" Arwen asked suspiciously.

"Well there was one instance where I attempted to make the flowers in my mother’s garden grow and that is what happened except….,"Lothiriel’s voice drifted off in correspondence to rising flush of red in her cheeks.

"Except?" Eowyn prompted.

"It would not stop," the young woman replied embarrassed. "Half the garden was overtaken in rose bushes in a matter of seconds. My father was most displeased."

"Well I think I understand why he is so eager to marry you off," Melia chuckled.

"I told Lord Eomer," Lothiriel quickly added, not wishing to have Eowyn in particular believing that she had sought to deceive any one. "The night before all this happened, I told him why my father was so insistent on this marriage."

"What did my brother have to say?" Eowyn asked, not believing that this sweet if somewhat interesting young lady was deceitful, even if her tastes were unusual. However, considering that Eowyn had once garbed herself as a member of the Rohirrim and matched to Gondor to fight at Pelennor, she was in no position to point fingers at what was inappropriate behavior.

"He was very nice about it," Lothiriel found herself saying with a little smile, remembering how amused Eomer had been and how completely unexpected his reaction had been. She had thought that he would rebuke her for her eccentricities but instead he had taken it with a grain of salt and said nothing that would hurt her feelings.

"He is unfailing sweet when he wants to be," Eowyn replied, taking careful note of the luster in Lothiriel’s eyes when she spoke of Eomer. The lady of Ithilien understood at that instance perhaps this union that Imrahil craved might not be as unaccepted to Lothiriel or Eomer as either would have previously believed.

"Lothiriel," Arwen interrupted because they had more important issues to discuss now that Lothiriel had made known her hidden talents. Even if the girl was inexperienced, she knew more than her companions combined about the casting of spells and right now, it was knowledge they needed desperately. "You said that the spell cast over the men required an agent, what did you mean?"

Lothiriel turned to the queen, recognizing the need in Arwen’s voice and thinking quickly of her answer. "Isildur’s Bane was able to affect the minds of those who wore it began it was close to the skin, I think what enchantment has befallen my father and the others is similar. There must be something that make it possible for the spell to do its work, however, I do not think it is a ring or something worn on the body in this case."

"I agree," Arwen nodded. "Whatever it was, it would have to be capable of taking over all of them at once and quickly. Legolas would have sensed the clouding of his companions’ minds almost instantly, even if he could not detect the shape shifters themselves. Unfortunately, they know how to hide from elves, that I can assure you."

"Unless they took him first," Melia pointed out.

"I doubt it," Eowyn shook her head. "They would have taken Aragorn first. He is the most important and the most useful to them. Legolas may be the Prince of Mirkwood and Eden Ardhon but he is an elf and the power of the Eldar in this time is waning. It is advantageous both politically and strategically to gain control of the king."

"Then what could have taken them all at once?" Arwen asked. "I knew the exact moment when he was taken from me and that was while they were signing the treaty. How could it have happened when they were all present in each other’s company?"

"At the treaty?" Lothiriel’s awakened with possibilities. "You are certain of this?"

"Yes," Arwen stared at the young woman, seeing the glimmer in her eyes. "Why?"

"What if they had already signed the treaty?" She asked.

"I do not understand," Melia remarked, uncertain what Lothiriel was alluding to. "What difference does it make if the treaty was signed? Ulfrain had no intention of honoring."

"Honor is precisely what happened," Lothiriel declared, "what would have happened immediately after they signed the treaty, how could they have shared the importance of such a momentous occasion?

"Elbereth!" Eowyn exclaimed, "they would have toasted the treaty."

"With a drink," the lady of Dol Amroth concluded with some measure of satisfaction. "It was in the wine or whatever it was they were drinking. A skin changer would have little difficult tainting the flask or each goblet before the serving. It is fast and would take them all at once."

"They were poisoned!" Arwen hissed, feeling her stomach knotting in disgust. "A toast to celebrate the occasion indeed! It was nothing but a ruse to enslave their minds. We must do something! Lothiriel, what can we do?"

Lothiriel drew in her breath, "I am not certain. Remember that I have only read of such things. Circumventing such spells is another thing entirely and I was never very good at spell casting."

"You are all that we have," Arwen said reaching for her arm. "We have no other alternative. Pallando is many days away at the earliest and we cannot let our loved ones leave Gondor the way they are, we cannot let them return home as the creatures of skin changers."

"You wished to know if you can be a wizard Lothiriel," Eowyn added, able to see how anxious Lothiriel was about being in such a position. She was scared and Eowyn could not blame her but like Arwen, Eowyn knew they had no choice. She was all that they had. "This is your chance to prove not only to your father but to yourself whether you can be all that you wish."

Lothiriel did not wish to deny their cry of health because she did not want her father to be under the spell of skin changers any more than they but she was afraid. She was afraid because this time, the stakes were simply to high to suffer failure.

"I will do what I can," Lothiriel finally relented. "If it all possible for me to break this spell I will do my best to see it done."

"I know you will," Arwen smiled. "Let us leave here and find some place safer where we can discuss what you are going to need."

* * *

 

Fortunately, while Arwen had seldom visited this part of the castle, Eowyn knew it well. Whenever she and Faramir came to stay in the White City, the former prince of Gondor would give her a tour of all his favorite places in the palace when he had lived here under Denethor’s rule. One of his favorite places was the library and Eowyn surmised that he was grateful that Aragorn had done nothing to alter it in any way. It was the wish of anyone who wanted to maintain the illusion of their childhood sanctuary, even if remaining as it were meant allowing it to deteriorate considerably.

Eowyn remember how much delight he had taken in showing her the library, even in its dilapidated state. He had explained with great fondness how he would sit at the windowsill, staring out into the vastness of the world beyond Minas Tirith, dreaming of things that only little boys with lofty ambitions could imagine. It was the place that gave comfort following the death of his mother when his father’s arms had grown cold, save for Boromir. During its years as his refuge, Faramir had learned everything about the library. His knowledge extended beyond the books on the shelf and extended to every nook and cranny in the place, including some lesser-known features that had become forgotten over the years.

"Keep trying," Eowyn insisted as she sat on the floor, facing a world at the far end of the library.

Before her, Arwen, Melia and Lothiriel were systematically pulling every book out of the shelves, not an easy task when the length of the shelf took up almost the entire wall. It was the only shelf built in this manner for a very specific reason, though Eowyn was certain that reason would drive her companions to revolt before they discovered it.

"Are you certain of this?" Arwen looked over her shoulder, wrinkling her nose in disgust as the dust that was covering her from this labor.

"He showed it to me," Eowyn insisted. "I saw it open."

"Pity you could not remember which one it was," Melia grumbled, wiping the sweat from her face.

"It was almost two years ago and what need did I have to remember it?" Eowyn retorted. "Besides, be grateful that I remember it at all. Faramir discovered it himself by accident, it was apparently installed during the time of the Steward Cirion. Cirion had been plagued by wars and before he beseeched Eorl to aid him where he gifted him with Calenardhon, there was real fear that the White City could fall. I would not be surprised if there are many such passages installed during that time, to guard against the eventuality of the White Tower coming under siege."

"It would be much simpler if we could simply pull out all the books at once," Lothiriel commented.

"You could," Eowyn added. "However, when the guards arrive here and their search will inevitably bring them here, we do not wish for them to know how we escaped and even if they do notice our tracks in the dust, they will have a difficult time trying to discern which book it was."

"Do you not hate it when she is terribly reasonable?" Melia replied and continued to pull the books out of the shelves and upon discovering nothing, replaced it.

Lothiriel did not answer, choosing to resume her efforts when suddenly a loud creaking sound was heard and the three women stepped away from the wall instinctively. Arwen held the book in her hand as the shelf suddenly came away from the wall, moving on a pivot that was activated by the mechanism attached to the book. A doorway awaited them behind the wood and the musty smell that emanated from it indicated that it was probably the first breath of fresh air it had received in quite some time.

"I do not believe it," Melia said impressed. "There is a secret passage after all."

"Let us not waste any time then," Arwen prompted them into moving. "Melia bring that torch with you, we can use it to light our way through the darkness. Once inside the passage, we have no fear that anyone will see the light. Lothiriel, help me with Eowyn."

"I am no invalid," Eowyn retorted but winced in pain when she attempted to stand.

"I am sure," Arwen rolled her eyes as she replaced the book in the shelf once again.

The company entered the passageway that stank of stagnant air and dust. Melia waited until the shelf had closed behind them before she lit the torch with the meager supplies she had managed to acquire shortly after their flight had begun. Once the torch was burning, they were better able to see the passage into which they had entered. The stairs were made from brick and rather crude in its construction. It was also winding and narrow but it served its purpose well enough and none of them were about to complain if it afforded them a way through the palace that did not require being hunted by every guard in the Citadel.

"Where does this lead?" Arwen asked as they began descending the dimly lit passageway.

"Beyond the ramparts surrounding the White Tower, Faramir claims," Eowyn replied, thinking it ironic that despite his enchantment, he was still capable of coming to her aid in time of need. "Most likely to ensure that those using this route to flee would be able to leave the White Tower beyond the enemy lines."

"That would make sense and it aids us considerably, for we can use it again when we need to re-enter the palace." Melia added.

"So we are not completely abandoning our plan of capturing one of the men?" Eowyn asked, looking in Arwen’s direction.

"No we are not," the queen replied firmly. "We are merely delayed for the moment while we regroup and dress our wounds from this latest encounter. Lothiriel, can you break the enchantment that binds them?"

Lothiriel had been considering the question deeply ever since Arwen had asked her help in these matters.

Despite her anxiety at failing her queen, she knew she had no choice but to try. She was the only one at hand who understood the magic required to free her father and the rest of Middle earth’s leaders.

"The difficulty lies in discerning which spell has been used upon them," Lothiriel explained cautiously. It was not easy to speak about things she had spent her whole life hiding from everyone and the exposure was rather uncomfortable, even in the company of friends. "If the agent were something worn, it would be a simple matter of removing it but since it has been ingested, that is a different matter entirely."

"But it can be broken? Melia asked hopefully, unable to stomach the fact that her Prince could be a servant of a shape shifter for all time.

"There are two ways in which it could be," Lothiriel replied after a pause where she thought quickly about the question. "We must remove the poison inside their bodies or find some way to circumvent its effects. Failing that, there is another alternative," she faltered, finding it distasteful to even speak of such things but supposed that this was hardly the time to be squeamish.

"What alternative?" Eowyn inquired.

"We find the shape shifter casting the spell and kill it."

The statement should not have surprised them because in the minds of all but the speaker, killing was always going to be something they would have to do. However, hearing Lothiriel say it was a little disconcerting.

"It could be any one of them," Arwen sighed after a moment. "At this time, we do not even know Ulfrain, Castigliari and Akallabeth are skin changers or humans. We would have to confront each of them to find out and even then we could be wrong."

"Still, strategically I would say it would be one of these three," Eowyn reminded. "It places them closest to their intended targets."

"True," Melia agreed with her assertion but also had one of her own, "however, they entered the palace with a large entourage. It could be said that strategically, the spell caster might have taken a more background role in order to protect their identity when the nature of the spell was uncovered."

"It does not matter," Arwen interrupted the debate, "we will focus our efforts on restoring the men by finding a cure to the poison inside them. Attempting to find out who cast the spell when our prey are skin changers will be next to impossible and we do not have that much time. We must endeavor to free them soon before the celebrations are ended and the leaders of Middle earth are required to return home to their lands."

"For that, we will need one of them," Lothiriel offered reluctantly.

"That much fortunately," Melia replied as she brushed a strand of cobweb out of her way, "we discerned ourselves already."

"That is why we were in the palace when we encountered you," Eowyn explained, starting to feel a little stronger, though not much and did not require as much aid to walk down the treacherous looking stairs. "We were intending to reach Eomer."

"Eomer?" Lothiriel exclaimed with a little more interest then she would have preferred to show.

The three women smiled to themselves, having no wish to embarrass the girl with what was obviously growing affection for the King of the Mark, and chose to refrain from making comment to her reaction.

"We believe he would be the one easiest to reach," Arwen responded. "Aragorn would be carefully watched and protected, not merely by the shape shifters but also by the royal guards. He is the king after all. Faramir and Imrahil would be equally difficult to reach as they are Gondorians with legitimate claim to the rule of the kingdom. Legolas and Gimli do not have the influence had the Prince cannot be approached in the usual manner, not without him sensing our approach."

It did not matter whom they chose as long as she could remove the spell.

"Can we reach him?" Lothiriel inquired, not at all relishing the possibility of roaming through the palace again, not after the pursuit that had seen them driven into this darkness.

"I do not know,’ Arwen confessed, wishing she had something more definitive than that to offer the girl.

"If we can remain out of sight long enough," Eowyn mused, "perhaps they will cease looking for us tonight. After all, the king has guests to contend with and the added challenge of maintaining his hunt of us without the rest of Gondor knowing why."

"I would not be surprised if they returned to the festivities actually," Melia shrugged. "Aragorn at least would know that he caused Eowyn enough hurt for her to require tending. We have shown no visible means of strategy for him to believe we are a threat to him. It is only our continued freedom that is a danger, not anything we have been doing."

Arwen considered Melia’s words and realized that the lady of Eden Ardhon was right. They were hardly a threat to the enemy or to Aragorn at this point, merely a nuisance, even with what they knew. "The banquet will well and truly be underway by this time of night," Arwen remarked as she thought what was to be done.

  
"I wonder how they explained our absence," Eowyn wondered out loud.

"With shape shifters, they may not need to," Arwen pointed out.

"Wonderful," Melia groaned. "We cannot even sneak into the banquet as ourselves and somehow, I do not think that any of us will pass for serving girls."

Something shifted into being within Arwen’s mind and an idea began to take shape in a flash of inspiration. It was insane and dangerous but it could work and what was more, it was the only chance they had of acquiring the subject Lothiriel needed to perform her spell of unmaking.

"I have an idea," she announced looking at Melia.

* * *

Once they had emerged past the ramparts surrounding the White Tower, it was an easy matter to find themselves a temporary refuge where Eowyn’s wounds could be tended to without fear of discovery by guards or shape shifters for that matter. Ironically enough, they had chosen an empty guard house for this purpose since most of the soldiers were either enjoying the festivities or stationed around the White Tower in an effort to capture them as well as protecting the king while the Easterling forces were in Minas Tirith. There was little that could be done for Eowyn other than to reinforced the bindings on her cracked ribs and treat the bruises she had incurred from Aragorn during their battle. Fortunately, they could afford to rest for a few hours because Arwen’s plans would achieve their fullest effect when the banquet was drawing to a close.

Lothiriel and Melia had left the company for a time, needing to acquire a few ingredients if Lothiriel was going to attempt to counter the spell that had so many of their loved ones in its power. With the celebrating being heard from every corner of the city and so many people out in force, it was an easy matter for the two women to leave the Citadel and enter the rest of Minas Tirith to acquire what they needed. Arwen remained with Eowyn, despite the lady’s declarations she needed no one to watch her. Arwen had no doubt that when it was time to put their plan into action, Eowyn would be on her feet to take her place at their side or die trying.

In the meantime, Arwen took some rest of her own, trying not think about the desperate circumstances that she and her companions were embroiled. Inevitably however, her mind would return to the fate of Eldarion and her hopes that Nunaur had managed to spirit him safely out of his father’s reach. It was almost obscene to Arwen that she would have to hide her son from Estel when he had proven himself time and time again, what an adoring father he was. She knew that it was only a spell that would have allow him to hurt Eldarion and she had no wish for him to wake up to that hell when this sad affair was behind them. It was bad enough that he would be mortified by what he had done to Eowyn, let alone how he would suffer if he discovered he had brought harm to his own son.

"I do not want to see Faramir until this is all over," Eowyn suddenly spoke.

Arwen looked across the floor at Eowyn was stretched out on the empty cot adjacent to her own. The shield maiden of Rohan had spoken very little in the last hour as both of them took comfort with their thoughts and allowed the events of the day to catch up with them. Eowyn’s eyes met hers and Arwen saw the fear she had so far managed to conceal from her companions, surfacing in all its ferocity.

"I cannot make you that promise," Arwen said softly, wishing she could.

"I know," Eowyn conceded her queen that much for not a great deal was within Arwen’s power to grant at this time, though she knew if it were possible that the elf would try to see it done. "I fear seeing him and how it would effect. I saw Melia was when she was forced to face Legolas. She was able to remain strong despite her feelings for him."

"And you fear that if you see Faramir, you will not?" Arwen ventured a guess.

"I do not know that I can fight if we are placed in such a position," Eowyn answered honestly. "How do you prevail after facing Aragorn?"

Arwen drew in a breath and steadied herself because there was a tidal wave of emotion inside her that craved expression and had been building since she first saw Estel and realized that he was no longer her king. There was a part of her that was almost as afraid as Eowyn, that perhaps Lothiriel may not be able to break the spell over him and that the stranger in his place would be all there was left of Aragorn Elessar. If he was dead, she could at least mourn him but taking him away from her in this manner would leave a wound that would bleed until the day she died.

"I prevail the best I can," she whispered softly. "I felt him slip away you know. The moment the spell tore Estel away from me, I felt it. I felt the threads between us sever, one by one. It was a terrible feeling and now there is nothing but an emptiness where he used to be."

"I do not think I could endure such a void in my heart," Eowyn answered after a moment, shaken by the intense grief she detected in Arwen’s voice and understood how fragile was the veneer between control and collapse for the queen. "I never thought I could love after Pelennor but he was such a surprise and he still continues to be, this warrior with the heart of scholar."

Arwen knew about Eowyn’s love for Aragorn though they never spoke of it. In the beginning of their relationship, it had proved to be a formidable obstacle to their friendship. If Eowyn had asked, she would have been surprised to know that Arwen was more sympathetic of her feelings than she would have given the queen credit. After all, Arwen herself adored Aragorn, why should not another woman feel the same? However, Aragorn was too trustworthy for Arwen to doubt his feelings for her and he had tried not to hurt Eowyn’s feelings as best he could although in such affairs, there was always bound to be one party whose heart would be broken.

Fortunately, the outcome at Pelennor Fields had seen to it that Eowyn and Faramir were brought together and for the two, it was a fortunate meeting for they were very much suited for another. Both were so wounded by loss that they were able to find healing and love in each other’s company. At present, one could never think that Eowyn had loved anyone else by the sparkle in her eyes whenever she looked upon Faramir.

"Eowyn," Arwen found herself compelled to speak. "We must face the possibility that the enemy will use our love for our husbands against us. Even Lothiriel is no longer invulnerable to this."

"Yes," Eowyn nodded in agreement on that point. "I saw how she looked when Eomer’s name was mentioned."

"Do you think that she is in love with him?" Arwen inquired because she, herself was uncertain, though she did not the affection emerging in the young woman’s heart for the King of the Mark.

"If this had not happened, I would say that it was most likely that she could have loved him, if she did not already. I know he was very taken with her but he was afraid."

"Because of this business of arranged marriages?" The queen asked.

"My brother did not want this girl to feel that she was obligated to wed him because of her father’s desires," Eowyn explained. "He had rather hoped that she would like him for himself, not out of duty."

"This entire affair came at very unfortunate time," Arwen frowned, not merely because of the overall plan of subterfuge over the leaders of Gondor but at the interference of the budding relationship between Eomer and Lothiriel.

"To say the least," Eowyn shook her head. "I do not like this business of her being forced to marry him any more than you, even if is the nature of the things among noble families. When I was at Theoden’s court, I was almost in danger of being wedded to Saruman’s lackey. Certainly, he desired me enough to force the issue if he had been allowed the time to poison the king’s mind further. Fortunately for me, the Grey Pilgrim ended his reign at Meduseld and I saw spared that horror. Until this day, I do not know what I would have done if Theoden had given me to him."

"Knowing you, the Wormtongue would have reason to regret it," Arwen replied.

Eowyn did not appear as certain and took a few seconds before she responded, "I do not know. I am what I am but I was also a loyal sister daughter of Theoden and I cannot say that I would have defied him. In any case, Eomer would have ensured I never had to make that choice, even at the risk to himself. That is why it is so hard for him to accept Lothiriel under such circumstances."

"He does not want to be like Wormtongue," the queen guessed accurately.

"No he does not," Eowyn replied with a little smile. "And I love him all the more for it."

* * *

Lothiriel and Melia returned not long after this, having acquired the items the young lady of Dol Amroth needed for their spell. It was decided that they would enter the palace once more through the library, since it appeared the most expedient way into the White Tower and Arwen had to assume that their pursuers would not imagine they would take the same route to make another into the court of Telecontari. Despite this seemingly easy entry into the palace, none of them were mistaken about the danger involved in this plan. Eowyn had insisted to accompany them even though she was far from mended but the lady of Ithilien was far too stubborn to wait in safety while others risked themselves for her.

  
Thus at the height of the evening, shortly before midnight, the women set out from their refuge once again, prepared to pit themselves against the darkness that encompassed the White Tower. The celebration as anticipated, was still going strong, with no signs of abating. Arwen who was becoming accustomed to such occasions since she had taken her place as Queen of Gondor, knew that the revelry could continue well until dawn and was grateful this in the event they needed to make a swift escape. The stables were relatively silent at this time of night and Arwen decided that would be the best place for Lothriel to conduct her spell to break the enchantment.

Arwen’s elven senses were capable of telling her that no one was lying in wait to ambush them, when the four women returned to the library. As an added measure, they had stolen some of the clothes they had found in the guardhouse and disguised themselves as best they could. Fortunately, no one would be paying too close attention when they finally emerged from the library. The only one who could not be disguised in this manner was Melia. Due to her obviously different racial background, she could not pass for a Gondorian and chose to forego the effort of a disguise.

  
Taking the passages frequented by servants, they made their way into the guest wing where the Easterling entourage was in residence. Wandering into the heart of what was enemy territory was dangerous to say the least but they had little choice in the matter. For the subject to be delivered into their hands, they needed a suitable disguise that would allow them to get close enough to him to manage this minor miracle and unfortunately, it was not a disguise that would be served by a guard’s uniform.

"Why does it have to be me?" Melia grumbled once they had slipped into rooms inhabited by the Easterling dancers during their stay in the White Tower. Fortunately, the dancers were out entertaining the guests at the banquet and would not interrupt them while they did what was necessary.

"Because you are an Easterling," Arwen said impatiently as she helped Melia into the brightly colored though somewhat revealing costume.

"Behind a veil who could tell?" The ranger snorted in dislike as she pinned the dreaded garment in place across her face. The gossamer like fabric fluttered slightly when she spoke and only offered a faint outline of her jaw and little else.

"The rest of you is not behind a veil," the queen added. "Unfortunately, the two of us do not have the coloring required to maintain such a deception and Lothiriel is needed to prepare her spell."

"Besides you are a Ranger, blending in should be easy, even in that costume," Eowyn declared from where she was at the door, keeping watch that they were not discovered. "My bruises will raise questions and Arwen has a face any man would be able to tell from a thousand leagues away."

"Thank you," Arwen cast the shield maiden a look as Melia continued to dress making certain that they knew her displeasure. "I think."

"Oh wonderful," Melia complained further as she examined herself in the mirror and felt like she was transported back in time to the days when she was required to dress like this. She had gratefully left this aspect of her life behind in the Sunlands, with no regrets at all. The fact that she was forced to dress like this again raised her ire to no end. "It is indecent to be this exposed! I did not like dressing this way when I was growing up and I like it even less here. Why cannot we just hit him over the head and drag him away?"

"Because," Eowyn said sweetly, "that would be difficult to go unnoticed in a room full of guests, including the king, my husband and no doubt a large number of shape shifters who are no doubt in the palace by now."

"I do this under strong protest," Melia frowned supposing that there was no other alternative. This was the best way to catch their prey. Alone, he was vulnerable.

"I do not know why," Eowyn returned. "You did not have this much difficulty when you were attempting to seduce that Uruk Hai in Nargothrond, I assumed distracting him would be simpler."

"I am a Ranger, ask me to shoot a boar or die in the service of my queen and I would be happy to do so, flirting with a Rohirrim lord is above and beyond the call of duty."

"Varda give me strength!" Arwen hissed. "Melia you know what is at stake here…."

"I know, I know," the ranger threw her hands up in a gesture of defeat on this subject. "It has to be this way but if he is ever freed from this spell, I honestly do not know which of us will be more embarrassed."

"Over the spell or what you are wearing?" Eowyn teased.

Arwen rolled her eyes and saw Lothiriel who did not feel quite brave enough to become caught in the banter between the two, giving her a rather sympathetic look. At the moment, Arwen could certainly use it.

* * *

When Melia emerged into the banquet hall, she had never thought she could feel so alone in a room full of people. Her presence hardly raised a brow for her costume was very effective and she was one of many dancers that were scattered around the room, following the conclusion of the entertainment for the evening. As customary for this part of the evening, the guests had abandoned the formal seating around the tables and were mingling amongst themselves throughout the room. There was enough mead and strong spirits served to ensure that everyone was on their way to becoming extremely inebriated. She could see Gimli the dwarf engaging in this whole heatedly.

Musicians were playing cheerful tunes and inspiring some of the guests were dancing, while others were laughing in conversation and the mood of the evening was certainly descending into a debauchery. Others were watching the fireworks from the balcony and to the casual observer, it appeared nothing was amiss in White Tower. Melia wondered how many of the faces before her were truly guests of Gondor and not skin changers attempting to destroy Middle earth from within.

  
It did not take long for Melia to sight the king, for he was remained seated at the banquet table with his queen at his side. Melia was forced to hide how shaken she was at the sight of the skin changer that had assumed Arwen’s form. The king was reacting to the imposter in the same manner that Aragorn treated Arwen when his mind was still his own. The adoration in his eyes almost appeared real and affected Melia more deeply then anything she had seen since this whole situation had began. Beside the king and queen, the Easterling rulers kept a vigil on the floor and incited Melia to discontinue her staring.

She turned away after a moment, unable to stomach it when she saw that Arwen was not the only form the shape shifters had stolen. Next to Faramir, she saw the facsimile of Eowyn seated beside the Prince of Ithilien and was grateful that Legolas was absent. She did not think he could stomach it if she saw him with a copy of herself. Fortunately, the Prince was nowhere to be seen although she saw Imrahil in the gathering and Eomer was holding court with a number of minor nobles from the outer Gondorian lands.

Drawing in a deep breath for she did not wish to be here any longer than she should, Melia sauntered across the room, reminding herself how the women of her culture were meant to behave. No one paid her any heed since she did not appear to be all that different from the other dancers who were presently entertaining of the men in the banquet hall like courtesans instead of dancers. Melia frowned inwardly, supposing that it would serve her purpose in this instance to be counted as such.

* * *

Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and the lord of Eden Ardhon could sense his wife. Their souls were linked from the moment they had given themselves to each other in the physical expression of their love. He had remained in the suite of rooms, having no desire for celebration after she had wounded him during their encounter. A well of anger rose within him as he thought of her betrayal of his good friend Aragorn and wondered how he could have been so foolish to trust her. The Easterlings were right, he thought as he rose from his bed and limped to the door, to issue warning to the guards that his traitorous wife had returned to the palace.

Strange, he never used to think well of the Easterlings. He supposed meeting them face to face had changed his mind somewhat about their customs. When Melia had first told him about the peculiar habits of Easterling culture, he had found them reprehensible but he no longer felt that way. When Legolas attempted to pierce the reasoning that made him change his mind so drastically, he was confronted with a thick cloud of confusion that was difficult to penetrate. Suddenly, he felt as if he needed guidance, though he could not imagine why he would need such a thing to make up his mind on anything.

Shaking the puzzled emotions running through his brain, the prince focussed his thoughts on the fact that his wife was close by and this time he did not intend to let her slip away. She needed to be reminded that he was her lord and master and that her allegiance should be to him first, not the Evenstar. The Evenstar was not worthy of such loyalty, not after stealing Aragorn’s son with the intention of spiriting Gondor’s heir behind the walls of Imladris where the king would never again lay eyes upon his own child. Legolas felt ashamed that a member of his own race could be party to such treachery though he never thought the Evenstar was capable of such deceit prior to this.

It appeared he was deceived about a great number of things of late.

He pulled open the door, preparing to sound the alarm when suddenly, standing before him was none other than the Evenstar and the lady of Ithilien.

"Evenstar…," he started to say.

"Not a word old friend," Arwen’s blade was against his throat in a matter of seconds.

"You will not kill me," Legolas said defiantly, challenging her to make her move.

"I do not have to kill you to make you obey," she hissed and grabbed his injured leg before squeezing mercilessly.

Legolas cried out as the arrow wound inflicted by Melia made itself felt most fully. The injury was still fresh and the only reason that he was not in the House of Healing was because he did not think it serious enough to warrant a stay there when his own bed in the palace would suffice. Unfortunately, the pain coursing through his leg made him wish otherwise as he staggered backwards into the room with his unwanted guests slipping inside quickly before they were discovered.

"Arwen you are amazing," Eowyn replied with no small hint of admiration in her voice as she saw Arwen advancing upon the elven prince who was bracing himself against a chair from the queen’s ministrations. "I did not think it was possible to trick him."

"Trick me?" Legolas stared at her in question, his face contorted in pain as he made his demand.

"By sending Melia into the banquet hall, I ensured that you would sense her and not us," Arwen replied as Eowyn slipped past her and approached Legolas cautiously. Arwen kept her sword against his throat, ensuring that he did not attempt anything foolish as Eowyn prepared to gag him. "We needed a subject and since you were injured, I guessed that you would be here recuperating since your skin changer masters would undoubtedly prefer that you remain close by."

"Skin changers?" Legolas managed to say before a cloth was tied around his mouth, muffling anything else he might have said in reaction. The gag made him struggle but Arwen’s blade cutting into skin, made certain that whatever resistance he made was brief. It was not long before he was bound as well as gagged though neither woman could believe that he would make their escape form the palace any easier.

"He will not go quietly and we must move quickly if we are to get him out of here," Eowyn replied.

"I know," Arwen nodded and looked around. She saw a ewer and a goblet on a table and crossed the floor quickly to obtain the former. The ewer was heavy but not so solid that it could cause irreparable damage, though her estimation of this was uncertain at best. Without giving Legolas any warning, she smashed the ceramic object against the back of his neck and dropped him to the floor without further protest. The prince lay on the carpeted floor very much unconscious but infinitely more manageable than before.

"Let us go while we can," Arwen declared as she brushed her hands of the remaining fragments and leaned over to pick up the prince.

"I hope Melia’s part in all this is as smooth as this one," Eowyn remarked.

* * *

Melia did not know how much time had passed but she prayed that it was enough for Arwen’s gambit to succeed. The need to depart the banquet hall was overwhelming and after fending off the intentions of a drunken Eomer and fighting her way through more than a dozen amorous suitors, Melia decided that enough time had lapsed and it was time for her to be going. Personally, it could not be soon enough for she detested this whole charade she was playing. However, if was the only way of reaching her Prince, Melia was compelled to try, no matter how much she loathed dressing up in this manner.

As anonymously as she swept through the banquet hall, Melia made her exit just as covertly. No one was looking closely at the dancers and the nature of the costume ensured that no one would be looking at her face either. It appeared as if she had successfully survived her part in the plan when she found herself leaving the door to the banquet hall behind her.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a hand clenched around her arm and halted Melia in her steps. Her breath caught and she looked up to find herself staring into the face of the Easterling general Castigliari.

"Lady Melia," he said quietly even though they were alone in the corridor, "I think it is time you and I had a talk."


	8. Unmaking

Despite being unconscious, removing the Prince of Mirkwood from the confines of his room to the stables were Lothiriel awaited to begin her spell of unmaking was no easy feat. Unconscious, he was a dead weight in their arms and it was nearly impossible to move through the halls of the White Tower appearing inconspicuous. While they were dressed as palace guards, Arwen and Eowyn knew their disguise was fragile to say the least and could only succeed if no one paid to close attention to them. Unfortunately, it was difficult to maintain such anonymity when carrying an unconscious elf in their arms. Fortunately, it appeared that the guards on duty were keeping watch for four women, not two guards supposedly taking a drunken elf back to his suite.

Upon reaching the kitchens, they found that it was not as peopled as before since most of the meals for the banquet had been served and the servants and cooks were either in attendance at the great hall or had gone to enjoy the festivities themselves. It was just as well for neither Arwen nor Eowyn wished an audience as they descended into the sewer passages that would take them out of the palace, without further observation by even the unknowing onlooker. As they slowly descended into the dark and rancid depths, Arwen ensured while one hand was wrapped securely around Legolas, the other was resting on the hilt of the weapon. Thanks to the acuteness of elven senses, Arwen was certain that the instant the terrible smell of the sewer assaulted his senses, Legolas would be roused from his unconscious state.

"I am worried," Arwen declared as they found themselves surrounded by darkness and the fetid stench of their filthy surroundings.

She could not see Eowyn’s face clearly but Arwen saw the lady of Ithilien nod slightly, "Melia should have joined us by now."

"Do you think she has been captured?" Arwen asked fearfully as they carefully navigated the narrow walkway, avoiding the canal of rancid water that flowed viscously beside it.

"I hope not," Eowyn answered quietly, but could not add anything further that would discount that possibility. "We are in no position to help her if she has fallen into their hands," she said gravely.

"Then we must ensure that Lothiriel’s spell of unmaking comes to pass," Arwen stated firmly, investing her hope on that possibility if the worst had befallen Melia.

Eowyn did not comment but it preyed upon her mind that if Melia were indeed captured, the enemy had no reason to keep her alive. A skin changer could easily replace the former Ranger of Angmar and the Lady of Eden Ardhon and no one would raise a question of doubt except the husband who was already their creature. Unfortunately, the reality of the situation meant that even if Eowyn and Arwen were to abandon their plans to provide Lothiriel with a subject for her spell, there was no assurance they could reach Melia in time to help her. Assuming of course, that Melia had fallen into the enemy’s power and was not simply delayed in her efforts to join them.

Eowyn’s attempt to respond was abruptly cut short when she felt Legolas stirring in their grasp. Considering how much stronger elves were in comparison to men, Eowyn braced herself to be physically tested when the Prince regained his senses. Legolas was not only an elf and superior woodsman but he was also a battle hardened warrior who had seen more battles in his time then either Eowyn and even Arwen could even begin to imagine. He was a member of the Fellowship and even injured, he would be difficult to restrain.

  
"Arwen," Eowyn opened her mouth to warn the queen.

"I know," Arwen responded automatically, sensing the same stirrings from the prince of Mirkwood, far sooner than Eowyn herself had felt it.

Like her human companions, Arwen strengthen her hold upon the prince, bracing herself for the inevitable struggle that would arise once he awoke and realized that he was their prisoner. Arwen had no intention of attempting to use reason with him because she knew that nothing she said to him would penetrate the cloak placed over his mind by his shape shifting masters. It was just as well that Melia was absent, Arwen thought to herself. Legolas’ state of mind once he was awake would not be pleasant.

When the prince finally regained consciousness, he raised his head wearily and swept his gaze across his surroundings with confused expression. The shadow of his enforced slumber was still upon his mind and it took a few seconds before it could clear enough for him to understand where he was. Arwen knew that this realization was being hastened by the assault upon his senses thanks to their present route out of the palace. Like her, his sharp elven senses was not an advantage in this dank and stinking sewer.

"Where am I?" He muttered groggily as he became more aware of his surroundings.

Arwen debated answering him even though she knew nothing could prevent the ugly scene about to follow. Eowyn met her gaze with the same question in her eyes.

"You are with us Legolas," Arwen answered finally with some hesitation.

"With you?" He raised his head and met her eyes.

As soon as it was made aware to him in whose custody he was, Arwen felt his muscles tighten and his eyes narrow in calculation. He was preparing for a fight and Arwen had no wish to conduct one in this place. Her sword was unsheathed before she could even form the thought and took advantage of the sluggishness he had yet to discard. Drawing a sword on her old friend was hard but no harder she supposed than facing her husband and knowing that he was a stranger beyond her reach. After today, nothing in Arwen’s universe would ever be so black and white again.

"Do not struggle Legolas," Arwen’s word were measured but hiding the thick vein of anger that wanted expression. "We are going to help you though you may not believe it at this time."

"Help me?" He snorted derisively. "You have abducted me Madam, just as you abducted your son and made yourself a fugitive in your former kingdom!"

"I did not abduct my son," Arwen returned shortly, reminding herself that Legolas’ mind was not his own. Every word he uttered was tainted by the skin changer’s poison in his body. "I simply removed him from his father’s reach."

"You cannot hide him from the king forever," Legolas hissed. "When the treaty celebration is over, he will send an army to Imladris to claim what is his."

The threat to Imladris was clear and it raised some measure of alarm within her. However, no army had ever been able to breach Imladris since its establishment because of Elrond’s power over the Ford of Bruinen. Despite his departure from Middle earth, he had ensured that Imladris would always be protected until the elves dwelt no longer there. Arwen had no doubt that if the skin changers were foolish enough to send Aragorn on such a quest, they would have cause to regret it.

"You know as well as I that he will never enter Imladris with an army," Arwen retorted. "Besides, I intend to see to it that this situation never reaches that point."

"None of it is in your control, Evenstar," Legolas glared at her. "You have only three companions at your side while he is the King of Gondor with the lords of Middle earth ready to lay their lives down for him, what chance do you think you have?"

"A far better one than you believe," Eowyn declared. "Or what you are forced to believe."

"You still believe that we are under a spell?" He started to laugh. "What delusion you women have. The Easterlings are indeed correct that we have allowed our women too much freedom in the past."

"Search yourself Legolas," Arwen said sharply, feeling her anger splitting at the seams when she heard him speak that way. It was a far cry from the elf she had known for so long, the one with unmeasured kindness as well as a heart too reasonable to be won over by just prejudices. "Did you always feel this way? What could have happened to alter your thinking so radically?"

Legolas blinked and for a moment, Arwen could almost see the confusion rising to the surface of his blue eyes. It was only brief but it was clear that she had unsettled him.

"Your words are meaningless to me," he retorted. "I have always thought this way."

"It was you who taught me how to use a bow and arrow Legolas," Arwen reminded him. "Remember? I was but a century old and my father did not believe it proper that a lady of Imladris should use a weapon. Remember how you told me that it was foolishness to be unable to protect oneself, even if there was no need to do. We went to that glade near the river and you showed me how. You told me that the art of using a bow was not to think of it as a weapon…"

"But an extension of oneself," Legolas whispered.

"Yes," she declared, her heart swelling with hope at his memory. "You do remember!"

"NO!" He balked violently. "I was wrong! I did not know better!"

Arwen felt a wave of disappointment and supposed that she should not have imagined that it would be so easy. After all, she was battling with words a spell with far more substance then that of simply memory. However, it did console her somewhat to see that the foundation of his belief had been shaken by that recollection. A fracture had appeared in the belief that his thoughts were entirely his own.

"It is not your fault," Eowyn said sympathetically. "Your mind is not your own Prince Legolas. It has not been for some time now."

"I know my mind!" He shouted back and tried to struggle against their vice like grip upon him but to no avail. Both women were prepared for his resistance and Arwen’s blade against his throat was a sharp reminder of his situation.

"I am certain that you believe you do," Arwen replied as they continued down the darkened passageway, "but that is not so. Your mind has not been yours since the signing of the treaty. I knew the exact moment when it was taken away because I felt it."

"I am no one’s creature!" He declared, repeating the words she had heard from Aragorn when she had first confronted him about his sudden change in personality. Arwen wondered if this too was a part of the spell, that when confronted with the possibility of being under the control of another, the victim was to produce the same litany of words to convince himself otherwise.

"Do not worry Legolas," she said quietly. "It will not be for long."

  
Inwardly, she prayed that she was not making an idle claim because this was a gamble they could not afford to lose.

* * *

Melia’s first impulse was to run.

Unfortunately his grip around her arm was strong and she did not relish the commotion that would result in her efforts to escape. When she had chosen to embark upon this charade, she had been forced to relinquish her crossbow and venture unarmed into the maw of danger. Never did she feel its loss more acutely than at present, when she was facing an enemy that knew he had her at a disadvantage. Melia could not imagine how he had seen through her disguise but supposed a general of his years would be difficult to fool in any instance.

"Let me go or pay the price," she hissed as her eyes darted about trying to see if anyone had noticed the scene between them. Fortunately, for the moment it appeared they were alone in the corridor but Melia was not about to assume that she was in any less danger.

"Pay the price?" He stared at her with a serious expression on his face, not at all derisive or triumphant, as one would expect of someone in his position. "I think it is you who are in a position of greater vulnerability than I, Lady Melia."

"That is a matter of perspective," she retorted, still struggling to remove herself from his clutches. "Do not doubt that I will not kill you if I have to. It may sound an alarm but I am capable of this, I promise you. You certainly deserve it after what you have done."

"I make no excuses for my choices," the general said in a low voice. "I do not doubt that a daughter of Hezare cannot make good on your threat but I do not wish to harm you, only to talk."

"Talk?" She stared at him. "What do we have to discuss?"

"That I would be happy to reveal," he returned quietly, stealing glances around them with just as much caution as she, "at the appropriate time. I ask you to trust me."

"When skin changers are involved, trust is difficult thing to give," Melia answered a little unsure of what she should do. Castigliari could well be a skin changer attempting to discern the whereabouts of her companions. However, if this were the case, why did he reveal himself to her? It would be far simpler to follow her unnoticed and discover that information himself.

"I know," he said earnestly. "I cannot make your choice any easier, not after what has taken place but I do not wish you harm and I must be allowed to speak."

Melia swallowed thickly, wishing she had more than her instincts to rely upon in this decision because so much weighed upon it. Unfortunately, that was not to be and she could not remain in this corridor any longer because eventually, someone would stumble upon them and wonder what was transpiring. She made a secret vow that she would not compromise her friends but she would give him the audience that he was so desperate to have.

"Let us leave this place for somewhere more private," Melia replied after a moment.

Castigliari’s face revealed his relief at her agreement to talk but Melia was unprepared to shirk her suspicions that he was not leading her into a trap, or that he was not a skin changer. She had no special senses like the elves, to be able to tell if he was deceiving her and that left her feeling vulnerable, not to mention unsettled as well. The general kept his grip on her as he prompted her into movement. They left the banquet hall and moved across the White Tower before finally reaching their destination in the gardens outside.

"What do you want?" Melia demanded as soon as they were alone. Over head, the night sky was bursting with color as fireworks stretched across the canvas in bright flame.

  
"I need to see the queen," he spoke after a moment using the tongue of the Harradirim for fear of being overhead. It was no easy thing for him to betray his king but Castigliari could tell that this alliance with the skin changers was at the peril of not only the leaders of Middle earth but all the Easterling people, not just those of Far Harad.

"That is not within my power to grant you," Melia responded, conceding to his desire to speak the language of Harad. Still, she had no intention of betraying Arwen, even if she believed Castigliari did not mean them harm.

"I must see her to tell her what is happening," the general repeated.

"We have manage to learn that all by ourselves," Melia retorted harshly. "We have no need of your counsel in this matter."

"I think you are wrong," he declared. "You do not know what they have planned. You do not know the full scope of their intentions here in Gondor."

"I know that they are skin changers," she replied. "That the Easterlings have allied themselves with skin changers."

"That is not true," Castigliari returned, appearing a little stunned that she knew so much. "Ulfrain has allied himself with the skin changers. My people have no idea what walks among them."

Melia stared at him in shock, taken back by that snippet of news. "How could you not know?" She demanded.

"Ulfrain made the alliance," Castigliari explained, "the Haradirim and the rest of Easterling confederacy has no knowledge of their existence. I myself did not know until your king and his council were poisoned by the sektari."

"Sektari?" Melia’s eyes widened familiar with that particular concoction. It was a favorite during times of celebration and extremely difficult to come by. "That is the agent that allows this spell to take charge of them?"

"Yes," Castigliari nodded. "When Ulfrain brought it with us, I thought it to be nothing more than a delicacy for our western neighbors. It never occurred to me that it could have any other use."

"It was tainted," Melia mused, able to imagine how things had unfolded following the signing of the treaty. Lothiriel had been correct. They had drunk a toast to their alliance, unaware that the contents of their goblets were tainted and would make them slaves to another creature’s will. Catching a glimpse at the haunted look in Castigliari’s eyes, she knew what had transpired was almost as great a shock to him as it had been to the victims.

"It tasted different," Castigliari turned away for poison was a most dishonorable method of gaining victory over one’s enemies. The Haradirim believed that meeting the enemy face to face was the only honorable way of combat. Poison was the tool of a coward and no Haradirim or Easterling for that matter would employ such methods unless they were completely devoid of honor or worse yet, Orcs.

"So they killed Ulfrain and took his place at the treaty?" Melia asked.

Castigliari did not meet her eyes but answered softly, "no, Ulfrain is still himself. He is not a skin changer. What he has done, he has done of his own will. He sought to make an alliance with the skin changers so that we would not be forced to bow down to the Gondorian king. He is proud like the rest of my people; he believed that accepting Gondorian aid was nothing less than submitting to defeat. He made the alliance and told no one of if mostly because he knew our people would be less inclined to suffer the power of another dark race as it was made to suffer the Orcs because of Sauron."

"Then who is it?" Melia demanded wit some measure of confusion. The skin changers would not be foolish enough to leave everything in Ulfrain’s hand. She had believed the skin changer would have been Castigliari but if the general was not the one, then who else was left?

"Akallabeth," he answered. "It is Akallabeth who is the skin changer."

Of course, Melia realized. Who else would it be? It made perfect sense now that she knew. Akallabeth’s subservient manner which had no other purpose then to engender a feeling of sympathy from everyone present, particularly the women. Ulfrain’s arrogant manner and his narrow minded view of what women should be and how he demanded such archaic behavior from his wife, who should have been treated as a queen but had less freedom then a slave. All of it had been part and parcel of the deception, manufactured solely for the purpose of producing every emotion, except suspicion. How blind they had been.

He saw the realization in her face and sympathized with her feelings. When he had learnt about Akallabeth, he had been gripped by similar emotions but by then it was too late to do anything about it. Castigliari was more realistic than his king at why the skin changers had chosen them to approach with their alliance. The people of Far Harad in the eyes of the world were a defeated people; a broken remnant of Sauron’s decayed influence in Middle earth. So many assumed that without the dark lord to do their thinking for them, that they were people without direct and hope, that they would latch onto the first glimmer of power that came their way. Castigliari did not know what hurt him more; the fact that it was true or that Ulfrain had believed it.

"I know that the skin changers have no greater preference for us then they do the lords of the western lands. They are motivated by vengeance and by conquest and my people are but a tool for them. Ulfrain thinks he is saving us but he has only made it easy for them to conquer us. When they are done with the Reunified Kingdom and its allies, I am certain that the skin changers will turn their attention to the Southrons and we will be in the same position as we are now. I have spent my entire life fighting for the Haradirim, I will not see the tyranny of Sauron replaced by that of the skin changers."

"Your speech is convincing general," Melia looked at him, unprepared to discard her suspicions about him just yet, even if she was granting him this audience. "However, words are not enough to convince me of your intentions. I will not bring you to my queen unless you are able to give me good reason to do so."

"I understand your hesitation," he confessed. "In your position, I would act no differently. However, you and your queen do not have a great deal of time. By the time the sun rises tomorrow, your king and all the leaders of Middle earth will be dead."

"Dead?" Melia’s eyes widened in shock, "what do you mean?"

"I mean that Akallabeth’s people are already in the palace and their plan is to kill all the lords of Middle earth and take their place. They intend to do it following the banquet. Why do you think they were so insistent that you women were restrained? When the queen threatened to take her tale to the war masters, Akallabeth had no choice but to act. The plan had been to take charge of King Elessar and his council, to use them as puppets until the rest of the skin changers were in the palace and capable of assuming their forms. Arwen was the only danger to that plan and that is why Akallabeth moved to restrain her. Unfortunately, I do not think she counted on your queen being so resourceful."

  
Melia did not speak for a few seconds because what she learnt was too horrible to contemplate. Hours, they had only hours to resolve this nightmare or else the men that they cared for would meet a brutal end. Under normal circumstances, Melia would hardly worry about any of them for each was formidable in their own way but this spell had taken away their ability to fight. They were helpless and they did not even know that they were being led to the slaughter.

She thought of Aragorn, the man to whom she had sworn her life and her allegiance. Even though she was now the wife of his best friend, Melia would always be a Ranger at heart and the constraints of that former duty compelled her to defend her king no matter what the consequences. What of Gimli, who was Legolas’ friend and companions, who had made her first days as the wife to an elven lord bearable by his humor and irascible nature. She could not bear to lose Gimli any more than she could bear to lose Legolas. Eowyn would never recover if she lost either Eomer or Faramir and Lothiriel would be similarly crushed if she lost her father, Imrahil. It could not be allowed! They had to do something!

"If you are deceiving me general," Melia shot him a look of pure venom, "there is nowhere on this earth that you can hide that I will not find you and make you pay."

"I would not be foolish enough to incur the wrath of Hezare’s daughter," he said earnestly. "You know now what is to be, what does your queen intend?"

"I will not discuss it with you," she returned. "I do not wish to keep you in the dark but you must understand how vulnerable you are. If you are right and we have only one chance to stop this, then I cannot risk taking you into our confidence. You are an experienced war master, you know that this is true."

"I do," he nodded. "I suppose the only thing that I can say is that when it comes time for the Evenstar to act against them, she can count on my assistance."

"I will be sure to tell her that," Melia answered. "You should return to the banquet before you are missed."

"And you?" Castigliari met her eyes.

Melia exhaled deeply before she responded, "I have to tell my queen that we need a new plan."

* * *

When they finally emerged into the fresh air once more, it felt as if they had spent an eternity of time in the sewers. Captor and captive took hungry breaths of sweet air once it was made available to them, taking it into their lungs in greedy gulps in an effort to wash away the rancid stench they had been forced to endure during their passage beneath the White Tower. Legolas had not given them much difficulty during their journey and Arwen suspected that his injury was impeding him far more than he liked to believe. Wounds to the leg could be deadly if the arrow struck the correct place and Melia had been forced to shoot her husband in close quarters during their confinement.

"What do you intend to do with me?" Legolas demanded rather wearily once they began their stealthy march towards the stables.

"Help you," Arwen said shortly and noticed that even in the moonlight, he seemed pale. She wondered if he would be able to endure the unmaking spell Lothiriel was preparing to carry out even as they spoke.

"Help me?" He laughed maliciously, "if you wish to help me then perhaps you should let me go."

"Legolas," Arwen sighed, not wishing to launch into another diatribe of convincing him that he was under the control of a shape shifter, especially when a spell prevented him for giving anything she said credence. "You and I have known each other for longer than some kingdoms have lived in this world, I would never harm you or allow you to be harmed in any way, but I will save you from yourself, no matter what you believe."

"It is not use Arwen," Eowyn replied impatiently. "He is too much their creature to believe anything."

"You are right that I do not believe you," Legolas retorted. "But I am no one’s slave."

Eowyn rolled her eyes in resignation and Arwen shook her head in similar distaste. Neither could blame the prince for his behavior for it was not his fault. Arwen was rather grateful that Melia was no here to see her beloved husband in this condition, although she prayed that the Ranger was already at the stables awaiting them. The fate of Melia preyed heavily on her mind and Arwen knew that should she fall into enemy hands, they would undoubtedly kill her since there was no reason to keep her alive.

As if aware of what she was thinking, Legolas suddenly spoke up, "where is my wife? I thought she would chose to accompany you in this display of defiance. After all, disobeying her husband and her family seems to be a habit with her."

"She will be along presently," Arwen said through gritted teeth, hating it immensely that Legolas could speak with such malice. The spell that had changed the prince ensured that his soul was tainted with their cruelty since she could not imagine anything so dark existing inside her old friend.

"Where is she?" Legolas asked, noting the slight tremor in her voice when she spoke of Melia.

"That is not your concern," Eowyn declared hotly but the truth was, the lady of Ithilien was just as concerned as Arwen regarding the fate of the Ranger. She should have caught up to them by now and her continued absence made them both extremely nervous.

"She is my wife," Legolas hissed. "I am her lord and her husband. I have every right to know what she is doing."

"And I will be happy to oblige when the skin changers have discharge their control over your mind," Arwen declared, starting to feel her temper fray. "However for you own sake Prince of Mirkwood, I would advise you to be silent."

She punctuated her sentence with a slight stab of her blade against his skin, reminding him most acutely that he was in no position to make demands of them.

Legolas fell silent but Arwen could sense the bristling of hatred in his gait. He had been manipulated to feel only dark emotions and she knew that if he were free to act, he would not hesitate to harm either her or Eowyn. Arwen had braced herself for the possibility that she may have to hurt him if he made such an attempt. It was not something she wanted to endure but Arwen would not be squeamish if forced into it. Fortunately, the prince chose to heed her advice and Arwen sensed that this was due to his physical condition rather than his belief in her determination regarding this matter.

They arrived at the stables and found that Lothiriel had completed her preparations. She had cleared one of the stables of its hay, having brushed it clean until one could see the floor beneath. A circle of ochre was formed on the stone surface, laced with markings that Eowyn could not identify at all but Arwen was certain to be some ancient form of Sindarin. She was rather impressed that Lothiriel was able to read it but then the line of Imrahil and his forebears claim their lineage from the Silvan elf maid Mithrellas who journeyed with Nimrodel from the southern havens. Indeed Lothiriel’s beauty had almost an elvish quality about it, as would her meager powers as a sorceress. While she not a wizard for the only true Istari were Maiar spirits, Arwen believed Lothiriel might have the understanding needed to thwart the skin changer’s plan.

Provided the girl believed in herself enough to manage it.

"What is this?" Legolas became animated again when he saw what awaited him within the stables. Lothiriel was in the center of the circle, laying out the important ingredients needed to make the spell work.

"Where is Melia?" Lothiriel asked nervously, trying not to pay too much attention to the subject for her spell of unmaking.

"She did not come back?" Arwen returned her question with one of her own.

"No," Lothiriel shook her head. "I thought she would return with you."

Eowyn and Arwen exchanged a brief glance of concern but neither could do anything to change the situation as it stood with Melia but there was much to be done in regards to her husband. "We will have to deal with Melia’s fate later. We must tend to him first."

"Tend to him?" Legolas demanded struggling a little and making Eowyn glad that they had chosen to bind his hands behind his back before embarking on the journey here. "What do you intend to do to me!"

"Nothing that will not hurt for too long," Eowyn retorted shortly, her temperament tested by the possibility that Melia might have come to harm. She helped Arwen escort the prince to the center of the circle and forced him to his knees, in front of an earthenware bowl.

"I am not certain I am able to do this," Lothiriel confessed, feeling more frightened than ever now that the moment was upon her.

Arwen stared at the girl, wishing she did not have to force the child into this position but they had no choice. Arwen knew nothing of magic and Pallando was too far away to be of any help. Lothiriel was all that they had in the way of a wizard and as much as it grieved Arwen to use her in this manner, they had no other choice.

"Lothiriel," Arwen placed a hand upon her shoulder, "I wish I did not have to call upon you for this but you are all that stands between us and Middle earth descending into darkness. I know it is a terrible burden to place upon your shoulders but I have no choice, you are all that I have to stop this thing from happening. True magic does not come from books or from the ability to read spells, it comes from within, from your belief that you can change the nature of things. You cannot simply try your hand at magic, you must wield it and be responsible for it. You worked your magic in the past with the insecurity of a child and faltered. You are a woman grown, despite your sheltered upbringing. If you were not, you would not have endured what we have suffered tonight. You stood by us and fought alongside us when it would have been easier to surrender, that takes courage."

Lothiriel’s eyes glistened with emotion at the Evenstar’s words. "I will not fail you my queen," she said softly. "If I have to give my life to succeed, I will see this spell done."

"Good," Arwen smiled, aware that the girl meant it with all her heart and admired her strength despite her fear. "Now let us proceed."

* * *

It was going better than the creature called Akallabeth had possibly believed.

Seated at the right hand of the Easterling king Ulfrain, Akallabeth felt a deep sense of satisfaction at the progress of the carefully laid plan that would reach fruition in a matter of hours. Before Akallabeth, lay the court of Gondor and the nobility of Middle earth, basking decadently in the celebration of the treaty that unknown to them was meaningless. They danced, drank, ate and flirted with each other in reckless abandon as the evening was driven deeper into the night. Some of them were human and some of them were not. It would surprise the lord of Middle earth to know just who amongst them were not what they appeared.

  
Certainly, the king did not feel this way as he sat next to his wife, displaying the usual adoration that King Elessar was known to show towards his beloved Undomiel, whom a short time ago had miraculously, appeared to him in his chambers and begged his forgiveness. Forgiveness that was easier to give after Akallabeth had whispered in his ear. The same was managed by Faramir with his wife Eowyn and thanks to the injury sustained by the Prince of Mirkwood, there was no need to produce a facsimile of the Easterling traitor, Melia. To court of Gondor, nothing was out of the ordinary and by dawn it would not matter that the real Evenstar and her companions were at large, their husbands would be long dead and the skin changers dominion over Middle earth would be assured.

It did annoy Akallabeth slightly that the queen and her companions appeared to be so elusive. While it was hardly surprising after their experiences with the Evenstar at Nargothrond, not even Akallabeth had imagined the queen could be such an enormous thorn in their sides. Fortunately, Akallabeth had constructed the plan to dominate Middle earth with a number of contingencies and those had slipped into place perfectly, despite the complications caused by the Evenstar. The skin changers had entered the city and taken their place at court. If the war masters of Gondor knew just how many shape shifters were inside the Citadel, they would surely raise an army and storm their own palace.

But they did not know and would not until it was too late.

The prospect of what the dawn would bring left Akallabeth with a deep sense of satisfaction that both vengeance and their desire to shape their own future were met. The Evenstar, who had destroyed their world when she had collapsed the caverns surrounding Nargothrond would find her own world similarly ruined. She would know how it was to be displaced and when her king lay dead at her feet and the lords of Middle earth turned their back on her as an imposter, Akallabeth would be there to finish what was left of the elf. It was something that Akallabeth looked forward to immensely as did the rest of the skin changers that were driven from Nargothrond.

There were so many plans to fulfil once the dawn broke. With their dominance over the Reunified Kingdom assured, they would wreak a bloody wave of conquest over the rest of Middle earth. There were elven enclaves that were ripe for the plucking now that the greater majority of the Eldar had sailed across the street. Former elven strongholds such as Imladris and Eryn Lasgalen were vulnerable, not to mention the newly established home of the Noldor elf, Celeborn. Once the elves were done away with, they would find the remnant of Aule’s children in Erebor. The Easterlings and Haradirim they would leave to last for their aid to the skin changers plans earned them that much.

The sunrise would see the birth of a new black age.

Akallabeth rather liked the irony of it.

It was during all these grandiose ruminations that something disturbing happened. One of the threads that bound the mind of Akallabeth’s creatures tugged sharply in her consciousness. Blinking hard, the queen of the Haradirim looked about the room, trying to discern what had happened when that strange sensation made itself acutely felt. Gazing at the king of Gondor, Aragorn Elessar seemed oblivious to everything but his queen. The Steward Gondor was paying similar attention to his wife and did not seemed troubled at all. Akallabeth felt short of breath with a heart pounding so loud, it was quite possible that its sound could be heard beyond the body.

Someone was attempting to break the spell, Akallabeth thought with a flash of insight.

This realization corresponded by another insistent pull of the thread and this time, Akallabeth could feel its tension reaching breaking point. Whomever was at the other end of that thread would be suffering the effects of the attempt to sever the bond between them and yet as Akallabeth scanned the room, there was no evidence on any of those enchanted being in distress. Akallabeth sought out the faces of Aragorn, Eomer, Gimli, Faramir and Imrahil and saw that they were oblivious to what was happening. If anything, they seemed to be enjoying themselves and the celebration immensely.

Wait. One of them was missing.

* * *

"What is wrong with him!" Eowyn demanded as Legolas started to cry out, shaking his head in pain as Lothiriel continued with the spell.

Lothiriel did not answer for her mind was too far away to hear Eowyn’s words. The spell of unmaking was no mere chant to be repeated. It was the expulsion of dark forces trapped inside a helpless victim and removing it required care and deliberation, not interruption. Lothiriel had never attempted a spell as complex as this but she forced the emotion of fear from her being because the mind of the conjurer had as much to do with the success of the spell as the magic itself. She could not allow her thoughts to be clouded by failure or insecurities. So many times in the past, she had filled her heads with incidental thoughts while attempting to perform magic and resulted in her spells going awry. She could not make the same mistake. The queen was depending on her.

"I do not know!" Arwen returned just as concerned. She had joined Lothiriel inside the circle, mostly because Legolas needed restraint. Eowyn had taken up a sentry position, ensuring they would not be interrupted or at least give them warning if they were discovered. Legolas was writhing in pain as the intensity of Lothiriel’s chant increased. Arwen glanced at the young woman and saw that her eyes were closed and her lips were moving softly as her soft voice became lost in the cries of Mirkwood’s prince.

There was something in the air, Arwen noticed. It had seeped into the room like invisible smoke but she could smell it nonetheless. It reminded her of the fires of Mordor, the pungent smell like rotten eggs. It made her swallow thickly to suppress her desire to gag at the stench. Returning her gaze at Legolas, the prince was crying in pain, a very unnatural sound coming from him. He was doubled over now, occasionally convulsing into an upright position when a fresh of pain attacked him. Arwen could see that it was taking all of Eowyn’s control to resist responding to her cries and empathized with the shield maiden of Rohan on this point. It was taking all her will to harden her heart to what was taking place.

"Help me!" Legolas shouted at Arwen, snapping her awareness into the present.

His pale skin was now flushed with red; a fine sheen of moisture had formed upon it, rapidly turning into slick sheets of perspiration as the intensity of his pain increased. His hands were bound to his back and Arwen could seem him pulling at his restraints, as if that would avail him anything. He managed his words in little more than a grunt before his teeth fused together in grinding pain and his entire body became taut. Arwen could not bear to look but because she had done this to him, she could not turn away either. Tears were running down her cheeks, in correspondence to his own and Arwen was actually grateful that Melia was not present. The queen had no idea how the lady would endure seeing her husband in this condition.

Lothiriel seemed oblivious to it all. The young woman was standing upright; her hands splayed to either side of her body and her invocation of the spell seemed to have encompassed all her attention for she made no reaction to either Legolas or Arwen. The words escaping her were ancient in their origins, a language of Sindarin so old that even Arwen had difficulty understanding it. She wondered where the young woman had learnt the craft and then decided that such deep questions were perhaps not appropriate for the moment.

"Arwen, we can’t let this go on!" Eowyn replied, wearing a desperate expression on her face because she was not a person that could ignore the agonized cries of another.

"We must!" Arwen returned anguished. "I cannot bear this but Lothiriel must be allowed to complete the ritual!"

"We cannot say for certain that she even knows what she’s doing!" Eowyn returned. "For all we know, she could be unintentionally killing him! You heard her yourself, she said her spells seldom work!"

"We had have choice!" The queen hissed as she heard Legolas’ cries became shrieks of agony. "You have to keep watch! They’ll be coming soon!"

Eowyn turned her attention to the doorway but appeared torn between her duty to rectifying their present dilemma and forcing the prince to endure this agony. With reason winning out over emotion, Eowyn resumed her duties as sentry, watching for guards who would be attracted by the commotion, if they were not already. It was difficult to focus on what was taking place beyond the stable doors when Legolas’ cries of pain left her in torment at what to do.

"Lothiriel!" Arwen called out to the young mage, finding her own ability to endure in the face of Legolas’ pain more than she could tolerate herself. "What is happening to him?"

Lothiriel did not answer and her lack of response drove more fear into Arwen’s heart regarding the prince’s ability to endure this agony for such a prolonged period. Arwen had never heard him scream before nor had she ever seen him in so much pain. Legolas always bore things so stoically. By nature, he was aloof and emotions seldom showed in his face for anyone, even another elf to know what he was thinking. Only since his marriage had he started to emerge from this emotional vacuum that he and so many long-lived elves placed themselves.

Suddenly, Legolas stopped screaming. However, his face remained a terrible mask of pain. Still on his knees, his body arched backwards, his head thrown back in pain. Blood began to seep out of his nose and his eyes were clamped shut. Arwen’s fear was reduced to panic at the sight of this and any restraint left inside her snapped at this point, splintering into a thousand fragments as she moved towards him. Yet even as she approached, Lothiriel’s words reached its climax and Legolas swung forward, doubling over before a violent upheaval was heard from the pit of his stomach. The retching sound was like a loud gurgle and upon leaning forward, expelled violently the contents of his stomach into the earthenware bowl waiting before him. His chest heaved violently once or twice as he displaced the alien substance in his body. Then he collapsed on the floor, his breath coming from him in loud rasps as he lay exhausted.

Lothiriel opened her eyes then and tumbled to the floor, her own exhaustion showing as she panted loudly, "is he alright?" She managed to ask. "Did the unmaking work?"

Arwen could not say for certain. She rounded the bowl, trying to keep her eyes away from the dark substance that Legolas had ejected from his body and knelt at the side of her old friend. His lips were stained with the remnants of the poison and his skin was far paler than should be of any elf. She placed her hand upon his skin and felt the heat under her palm but it was from exertion, not from illness.

"Legolas," she called out. "Can you hear me?"

His eyelids fluttered briefly and though he did not open his eyes, he did nod wearily, "Evenstar….. I hear you."

"Do you know where you are?" She asked softly.

  
There was a slight pause before he shook his head, "I am in the great hall."

All three women dared not speak as they looked at each other and then at the prince once more.

"What is the last thing you remember, Prince of Mirkwood?"

Another pause followed, "treaty. We were drinking a toast to the treaty."

Arwen let out a deep sigh of relief, her head drooping slightly from the intense emotion that was coursing through her. Until this moment, their hopes of freeing Aragorn and the others had been just that, hopes. Now it was a reality.

"It is good to have you back, old friend." Arwen said placing her hand on his cheek.

Legolas was still disorientated but he was recovering quickly. After all, he was an elf. "Was I gone?" He managed to ask.

"Further away than you could possibly imagine," Arwen answered, aware that explanations would be needed if his memory of what transpired since the spell had taken him was erased from his mind. After freeing his hands, she looked over her shoulder and saw Eowyn tending to Lothiriel. The young woman appeared exhausted but unhurt by her efforts. Arwen was glad of this since the same procedure would need to be repeated if they were to free the rest of the men under the skin changer’s power. Still Arwen did not relish seeing Aragorn endure the same agony.

"Lothiriel," Arwen called to the lady of Dol Amroth. "How do you fare?"

Lothiriel raised her eyes to the queen, wearing an expression of awe on her face, "I fare well knowing that I did not fail. I cast the spell of unmaking and it worked."

Her smile of pride was infectious and had greater ramifications then just her success as a mage. For the first time since this affair had began, Arwen could see a way out of their predicament and that gave her a good deal of hope.

Arwen helped Legolas sit up when suddenly, Melia appeared at the door. The ranger halted for a moment as her eyes surveyed the situation and paused when she saw Legolas. The prince’s condition had not improved even though he was now lucid.

"Mia," he exclaimed when he caught sight of her.

Instead of going to him as Arwen she wanted to, Melia held her ground. "Is he free of the spell?" She asked cautiously.

"Yes," Arwen nodded with a little smile. "He is free of it."

Melia’s shoulders sagged considerably with relief but was soon approaching her husband. Arwen could see their earlier encounter preying heavily in Melia’s mind and the queen understood all too well the emotions of gratitude she was feeling at having her husband and her love returned to her at last. It was emotions that Arwen soon hope to share when they freed Aragorn from the shape shifter’s spell.

"You do know how to vex me Prince," Melia said after embracing him.

"What has happened?" He asked, understandably concerned. "I remember nothing and it appears I have been injured," Legolas remarked glancing at his leg.

  
"I am sorry for that," Melia apologized, basking in the fact that the elf she loved was himself again, not that stranger she had been forced to hurt. "It was necessary."

"You did this to me?" He stared at her, brow raised with shock. It was obvious that he was in need of explanations.

Melia looked to Arwen for guidance, uncertain of how much should be revealed to him. She did not wish him to know that just a few hours ago, they stood before each other’s as enemies. She did not want to tell him that he had been the slave of a skin changer or that he had been ready to deliver her to his masters without a second thought. She knew her husband and he would feel enormously guilty about his actions, even if it were through no fault of his own.

"Old friend," Arwen decided to spare Melia that trial and took up the unpleasant duty herself. "The kingdom is in great peril even as we sit here discussing the matter. The Haradirim have deceived us. They are in alliance with the skin changers of Nargothrond, the remnants of Glaurung’s army."

If anything could disperse the lingering fog in the prince’s mind, it was that revelation. The warrior in him immediately regained full consciousness and he was suddenly staring at them with all faculties intact and primed for combat.

"Continue," he urged firmly, his voice hard like flint.

"I will in due course," Arwen returned, "but I must know what is the absolute last thing that you remember before awaking here?"

Legolas glanced at Melia briefly before considering the question. Trying to remember was like seeing his memory through a dull fog, vague and unclear. "I remember the treaty and signing it. There was discussion about a toast, something called sektari I believe."

"It was poisoned," Melia concluded for him. "I just had a meeting with Castigliari, the Easterling general."

"What?" Arwen exclaimed.

"He claims that the Haradirim are unaware of the skin changers among them. The alliance we thought they forged with the skin changers was the work of Ulfrain and he has told no one. Akallabeth is a skin changer. "

"I knew that there was something about her!" Eowyn hissed. "All this time, she played us for fools, invoking our sympathy for her when all she was doing was watching us!"

"Arwen," Melia ignored Eowyn’s outburst and continued her revelations, "Castigliari told me their plan. They intend to murder all the leaders of Middle earth under their control and replace them with skin changers before the dawn."

"Dawn?" Lothiriel cried out in horror, "that is only a few hours away!"

Arwen let out a sigh and replied with steel in her voice, "then that is how long we have to think of a way to stop them."


	9. The Darkness before Dawn

 

Legolas Greenleaf listened solemnly.

The Lord of Eden Ardhon and the Prince of Mirkwood listened in silence as Arwen related to him all that had transpired in Minas Tirith since he had participated in the toast following the signing of the treaty with the Easterlings. He said little as he heard how, he and the other members of Middle earth’s ruling Council had fallen under the spell of the Easterling queen Akallabeth, now unmasked as a skin changer and a former servant Glaurung and prior to that, the dark enemy Morgoth. There was little expression on his handsome features but those who knew him were accustomed to his aloof manner. His façade may have displayed indifference but his eyes; his eyes were burning with the cold fire of outrage.

After Arwen was done telling her tale, Legolas did not speak for a brief time. He appeared as if he were absorbing her words into memory and attempting to formulate a response to the extraordinary events he had played such a role in, but had no memory of. Yet he could feel it inside, that feeling he had done something terrible even though he knew not what exactly. Legolas turned his high powered gaze to his wife and raised a brow at what she wore but his attention to that detail was fleeting. He noticed the bruise on her face and felt his stomach hollow with realization knowing that the one person she would have allowed close enough to inflict that injury, was him.

"Am I responsible for this?" He asked softly, brushing his fingertips against the bruise to her upper lip.

Melia touched his cheek said with sincerity, "it was not your fault. You were not yourself."

Legolas sucked in his breath, having that question answered with her response. "I am sorry my love," he replied after a moment, "I would never consciously hurt you and it wounds me greatly to know that I am responsible for this."

Melia caught his hand against her skin and held it within hers for a moment, her eyes conveying to him that she loved him too much to bear in malice in actions he had no power to prevent.

"Prince," Melia said warmly, "I love you and I am thankful that you have been returned to me. However, our situation has not changed despite the freeing of your mind."

"I know," Legolas nodded, "You are right, there is ample time to discuss my conduct at a later time. For now, we have to free the others."

"The question is how," Eowyn declared from the stable, still keeping watch that they were not caught unaware by guards. "We now have a matter of hours in which to act and our quarry is well guarded."

"Even more so now," Lothiriel added glancing at Legolas. "Akallabeth may know that her spell over Legolas has been broken."

"We have to try," Arwen said firmly. "If we do not, then the entire body of Middle earth’s rulers with the exception of the Prince here is going to replaced by skin changers. I do not think that even Ulfrain has any idea what kind of bargain he has made with the enemy. They have no more preference for the Easterlings then they do us, the skin changers will annihilate them in just the same way, only later."

  
"We have no choice then," Legolas met her gaze. "We have to infiltrate the banquet and the young lady of Dol Amroth will have to perform her spell upon all of them."

Lothiriel did not appear as certain she would be able to accomplish this. Her face clearly showed her apprehension at so much being expected of her. However, she could not deny that having been able to successfully carry out the spell of unmaking that saw Legolas free of his enchantment had filled her with more confidence than she had ever felt before. She thought of her father and Eomer still trapped in the that awful spell and knew that she had to free them, no matter what the cost to herself.

"That is easier said then done Prince," Melia replied. "I was not so anonymous as I believed when I infiltrated the banquet hall. Even though Castigliari professes to be an ally, I could have just as easily been discovered by someone who has not. If I am alone could not manage this, I have little doubt whether all of us can."

"That is true," Arwen had to concede Melia’s point but she could not bring herself to admit defeat, not when they had discovered that it was in their power to free the others as they had done Legolas.

"It will even be more difficult since copies of ourselves now sit at our husband’s side," Eowyn added unhappily. The idea that a facsimile of herself was playing Faramir’s doting wife was enough to twist her insides with fury.

"So at this moment, everyone in the banquet hall believes that there is no discourse between Aragorn and his queen?" Legolas mused.

"Yes," Melia nodded, her expression wrinkling with disgust as the memory of the imposters at the banquet. "Both Arwen and Eowyn were represented. Fortunately, because of the injury to you Prince and your absence at the feast, I was spared that indignity."

"Then all we need to do is reach the banquet hall while it is still peopled with guests and show ourselves," Arwen declared, an idea forming in her head.

"Why yes!" Eowyn exclaimed. "As Melia said, neither the Easterlings or the Gondorian guards are aware of what is transpiring, they only know what the king tells them."

"And if the king is in the company of shape shifters," Legolas said with a smile, impressed by Arwen’s strategy. "Then he will have to explain why. Not even the people’s love for Aragorn as their king will allow such a thing to go unexplained."

"What about the Prince?" Melia asked concerned for Legolas. If Lothiriel was right and Akallabeth had some suspicion that Legolas’ was freed of her control, there was no reason to think she would not attempt to harm him.

"Even a skin changer would not be foolish enough to use Aragorn to strike at Legolas," Arwen spoke before he could. "Any attack upon him would bring down the wrath of Thranduil and the outrage of every elf still remaining in Middle earth. While our numbers are no longer what they were, the elves are still a force to be reckoned with."

"That is good to know," Melia remarked, offering her husband a relieved smile.

"I would not be so certain of that," Legolas answered however, "they intended to replace all of us with others of their kind. Such a deception would require my death as much as the other leaders of Middle earth. I think Arwen’s plan is the only way left to us. We must expose the imposters before everyone at the banquet and we must do it quickly. The hour grows late and even as we speak the festivities are drawing to a close. If we are to succeed, we must move now."

It was all happening so quickly. It felt like this nightmare had been unfolding for an eternity, not a matter of mere hours. Now it appeared as if there was an end in sight but it had come so quickly upon them that Arwen scarcely had time to breathe or to accustom herself to the fact that before the dawn came, this crisis would see its end one way or another. Still, no matter how much risk was involved, any plan that would see the freedom of her beloved Estel was one she was willing to attempt. Unfortunately, entering the banquet hall and exposing the shape shifters for what they were was not the only difficulty that lay before them. No doubt in such a confrontation, Akallabeth still had the power to use Aragorn and against them.

"I do not wish to fight my husband," Eowyn spoke, voicing her own thoughts on the matter. "If we do this, that is precisely what will happen. I do not wish to fight Faramir."

"Any more then I would like to face my friend Lady Eowyn," Legolas responded in understanding of her feelings. "I do not see that we have any choice."

"We have to perform the spell of unmaking upon them," Lothiriel suggested, "however, you saw what effect the spell had upon the Lord of Eden Ardhon to see this done. It will be the same with all of them."

"If we expose Akallabeth for what she is, we will have help," Arwen reminded. "Lothiriel, you must bring with you the ingredients for this spell. If we have to, we will barricade them inside the hall to see them free of this pestilence."

Still despite Arwen’s efforts to be optimistic about what they were intending to do, no words could lessen the danger of what they were about to attempt. Even with Legolas restored to them, the Prince who was a member of the Fellowship, there were no guarantees that they would succeed. Unfortunately, Legolas was right. They had run out of time.

It was this way or none at all.

* * *

Akallabeth was not happy.

The skin changer sensed something was wrong and yet Akallabeth could not leave in the presence of all the assembled guests without drawing suspicions. The plan was mere hours away from fruition and yet something unsettling had stirred within the creature. One of their pawns was somehow freed of the shackles upon on his mind and since everyone else was assembled, Akallabeth deduced rather quickly which one of them it was.

Elves, the skin changer snorted with derision.

That accursed race was capable of nothing but complicating relatively simple matters, just as the Evenstar had done on this occasion. If only they had managed to lay their hands upon her half-breed whelp, it would have ensured her cooperation. Unfortunately, even the best efforts of the king had been unable to retrieve the child. Whomever the Evenstar had entrusted her son was very capable of ensuring no harm befell the young prince, much to Akallabeth’s severe displeasure.

No doubt Legolas Greenleaf was now aware that he had been under a spell though how he had freed himself was a matter of concern to Akallabeth. As far as the skin changer was aware, there was no one in all of Gondor that was capable of undoing the magic that had bound its king and the rest of Middle earth’s ruling council. The wizard Pallando according to all accounts was in Mirkwood, Akallabeth had been certain of this prior to their arrival in Minas Tirith. He was the only one who was versed enough in magic to be able to circumvent the spell cast over the king and his companions. It disturbed the Easterling queen greatly that Legolas was free because if it was Pallando who was responsible, then the skin changers would be facing an Istar with uncharted powers.

"We have a problem," Akallabeth whispered in Ulfrain’s ear as Castigliari returned to his seat next to them.

"What sort of problem?" The Easterling king asked looking up in surprise. The banquet hall was crowded with revelers and everyone seemed to accept the facsimiles of the queen and the Lady of Ithilien without question. As far as Ulfrain was concerned, everything was transpiring exactly as it should.

"The Lord of Eden Ardhon is no longer under our control," Akallabeth replied.

"What?" Ulfrain hissed loudly and then quickly silenced himself when he noticed the gaze of a passerby looking up at him in question.

"Calm yourself," Akallabeth ordered sharply "He is only one but he has been freed."

"I thought you said that was impossible," Castigliari retorted.

"Impossible for the queen but not a wizard if one is present," Akallabeth answered, glaring at the general who clearly disliked the whole notion of the alliance his king had struck with her.

"What do we do?" Ulfrain demanded, clearly afraid at this turn of events.

Castigliari could not believe that the son had come from a father he had served so faithfully and fought so bravely for in the past. Ulfrain was weak and he was malicious, unlike his father who understood his place in the scheme of things and did the best for his people, despite their foolish devotion to Sauron. Part of Castigliari’s decision to help the Lady Melia and the queen was due to the deficiencies he was noticing in the king he had pledged to serve, the king who would bring them to disaster far worse than even the War of the Ring.

"He will not doubt attempt to reach the king and expose our scheme," Castigliari offered quietly. "We must stop him."

Akallabeth stared at him with a small measure of surprise, impressed by his backbone and his quick thinking, "you are right general."

"I suggest that you keep your people confined to this room and allow the king’s guards to take up position around the banquet hall. We cannot allow the prince to speak to the palace guards and poison their minds with the possibility that their king might be a skin changer’s creature. From the wife who was implicated in crimes that is one thing, however, Legolas is the Prince of Mirkwood and a member of the Fellowship of the Nine, his word is almost beyond reproach," Castigliari continued, hoping that he was capable of playing games of deception as well as Akallabeth.

"That is sound General," Akallabeth nodded. "Go to it immediately. If that elf comes within a foot of this room, kill him. Damn the consequences. My people should be able to mask his demise and by morning it will no longer matter."

"It will be done," Castigliari smiled and rose to his feet, bowing slightly in the presence of his king and queen before he departed from their company.

For the first time since this entire affair had begun, the general was starting to see a light at the end of this dark night.

* * *

"That is an interesting costume you wear wife," Legolas commented as his eyes moved appreciatively over Melia in her Easterling garments, as they moved through the sewers once more.

"If you even think of asking me to wear it again, I will shoot you in your other leg," Melia replied sweetly while still managing to give him a look of warning.

"It was a mere thought," the prince smiled. This situation, for some odd reason, reminded him of the journey to Ered Mithrin during the early days of their relationship. "I must confess that it is most becoming."

"I think I liked him better when he was under Akallabeth’s spell," Eowyn added.

"Oh you get used to him," Arwen could not help but add, "it takes a long time though."

"How long?" Eowyn looked over her shoulder at the queen.

"About three thousand years," she laughed softly.

"I think I am outnumbered," Legolas replied good naturedly, glad to see that their spirits were still high despite the emotional stresses they must have endured since the signing of the treaty.

"With weapons far sharper than swords," Melia smiled, pausing long enough to give her husband a glance that expressed her affection towards him in no uncertain terms.

"Are you certain that these disguises will allow you to reach the banquet hall?" Legolas asked with concern as he regarded Arwen and Eowyn who were clad in the garments of soldiers while Lothiriel was still wearing the disguise she had used to leave the palace unnoticed.

"They were good enough for us to retrieve you from your quarters," Arwen replied. "I hope our fortune will last long enough for us to enter the banquet hall."

"We must beware," Lothiriel added for the first time. Despite the fact that the young woman had counted herself more than worthy to be in their company, she was still a little reserved about making herself heard. "The skin changers I saw must surely be in the palace by now," she reminded.

"I would say that they are most likely within the banquet hall itself," Arwen replied in agreement. "If they intend to murder the king and his company, then it is likely they would wait until the celebration is done and then move in for the kill. Legolas, you still command the respect of Gondor’s troops, I believe that you can convince enough of them that the king is in danger and hasten our arrival at the banquet hall. Melia, you will go with him."

"Why?" Melia asked immediately. She had begun this adventure at Arwen and Eowyn’s side and though she loved her husband, she felt similar duty to her friends.

"Because to them, you appear as a member of the Easterling entourage," Arwen answered swiftly. "Do not fear, Eowyn and I will not be far behind. We will follow the soldiers but discreetly, as will Lothiriel who can enter the banquet hall as a serving boy."

"It is a sensible course my love," Legolas added. "Evenstar, you do your father proud on this day. I do not think he could manage such wise counsel."

"If word were all that were needed to win the day, I would accept your praise with pride," Arwen gave him a warm look, grateful for the praise but aware of the odds they still faced. "However, it is deeds that will decide how this will end."

And by night’s end, it appeared they would have to accomplish a bit of it.

* * *

General Castigliari wondered if he had suddenly gone mad.

Considering his present course, there was every reason to believe he had taken leave of his sense. The risks to himself were considerable and he had no idea if what he had embarked upon could ultimately lead to the freeing of his people from this dark alliance that Ulfrain had made with the skin changers. He only knew that at the time, the opportunity presented itself and he had grasped it with both hands. In the field of battle, he knew when to make use of an advantage. In this instance, the anxiety he had seen in Akallabeth’s eyes was the first sign of weakness he had witness in the skin changer since this nightmare began.

Ulfrain’s personal guard numbered only a handful of men and that concerned Castigliari since he was unaware of just how many skin changers were in the palace. He was certain however, that aside from the skin changers wearing the faces of the Queen and the lady of Ithilien, there were others within the banquet hall, appearing harmless until the moment came for them to do away with the rulers of Middle earth. In truth, Castigliari had no great love for his former enemies but even he was astute enough to recognize who was the greater threat in this instance. This alliance of the skin changers would be little different from their alliance with Sauron, which was to say no alliance at all.

For as long as he could remember, the people of the Haradirim and all the nations that constituted the Easterlings, were bound in service to Sauron and the dark lord Morgoth before him. Sauron’s agents called it an alliance but since the Haradirim had no but to serve, the nature of their relationship with Mordor was more akin to slavery than anything else. They fought when Sauron ordered them to do so and they were expected to die with similar obedience. Their entire culture had been sacrificed to the ideal of becoming a vital cog in Sauron’s war machine. There was little infrastructure within their society that was not geared towards warfare and even Castigliari recognized that unless this changed, they would become extinct.

"What are your orders Sir?" Ramariz, the captain of the king’s guard asked of the general after he had summoned them all outside the banquet hall. Behind the close doors where the feasting was taking place, the noise of partygoers had contracted to a mild din and Castigliari could now be assured that he had escaped the watchful eye of Akallabeth.

"There is something a foot here tonight," Castigliari answered as his eyes scan the faces before him and he wondered if Akallabeth had replaced any of his men with her skin changers. "I cannot say what for the moment but if you catch sight of the Prince of Mirkwood, you are to detain him. Do not allow him into the banquet hall until I have been consulted, is that clear?"

The soldiers looked at each other in puzzlement, aware that such action against an ally in the palace of its king was a dangerous action indeed. However, many of the men present had fought alongside the general in the wars preceding this alliance and they had learnt not to question his orders. They trusted him far more than they would trust their king Ulfrain, though not of them would make such an admission out loud.

"We will do as you ordered General," Ramariz answered firmly, mirroring the words of his general. "We will detain the prince if he enters our presence."

"Good," Castigliari patted Ramariz on the shoulder in gratitude. "We may yet save our people from the darkness had threatens us all."

They did not understand to what he referred to but they trusted him and that was good enough for now. Castigliari was almost as uncertain as they of what would transpire as the evening drew to a close but at least when it came upon them, they would be prepared.

* * *

"Are you ready?" Legolas asked the women before him as their plan moved into its final stages.

"Go to it Legolas," Arwen ordered, answering his question at the same time, "time grows short."

Taking refuge behind the turn of a corner, they could hear the chatter of palace guards from the corridor beyond. This plan would not work without the aid of Gondor’s warriors and soliciting their aid would be a precarious venture at best. Thanks to Akallabeth’s control of Aragorn, so much distrust had been sown in the soldiers against their queen, that it had been impossible for Arwen to convince them of what had befallen the kingdom. However, Legolas Greenleaf was another thing entirely. He, like the king himself, was member of the legendary Fellowship and possessed the weight needed to convince them that a shadow had fallen over the Citadel. Perhaps even enough for them to consider their queen’s words of truth.

Legolas nodded and gazed at the Evenstar who was like her sister to him. By the grace of her convictions and the courage of the friends who stood by her side, she had staved off the disaster that was threatening the entire realm of Middle earth and might still do so if they failed in their mission tonight. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Arwen’s forehead, then moved to Eowyn where he squeezed her shoulder as he would a comrade in arms before finally offering the young Lothiriel a smile of encouragement.

No further words needed to be spoken because those slight gestures were enough to convey the depth of his feeling. He turned to his wife, who would stand shoulder to shoulder with him as they undertook their most dangerous gamble of the night. Although his leg still ached in pain, as an elf he recovered quickly and was still a formidable opponent as he intended to prove it by the bow and the swords he carried on his back. They had retrieved his weapons prior to their arrival here and now that he was armed with the necessary assemblage for battle, he was read for whatever lay ahead.

Stepping out of the corridor with Melia at his side, Legolas strode forward boldly, hiding the slight limp in his walk and made his way directly for the guards. They caught sight of him immediately as they took up sentry positions along the wall of the corridor leading to the banquet hall. With so many guests of important standing present on this occasion, Legolas could not deny that additional security measures were warranted.

"Guards," Legolas called them forward and Melia tensed at his side. She gazed quickly over her shoulder and saw that Arwen and Eowyn were keeping watch closely. This made her feel a little more secure, though she could not say why.

"I wish you all to come with me," Legolas’ words brought her attention back to her prince. "I have uncovered an assassination plot against the king. At this moment, the feast has been infiltrated by assassins posing as the Easterling entourage, preparing to murder the king and all the members of the ruling council at the close of the evening."

A tremor of outrage moved through the guards who were present but the word of Legolas Greenleaf was difficult to discount.

"This plot has deeper ramifications than mere assassination I am afraid," Melia added her voice to the mix. "We believe that the Easterling king has made an alliance with agents of darkness, skin changers who are able to assume the guise of any one of us. If you accompany us to the banquet hall, we will prove this irrefutably."

For the soldiers of Gondor, the memory of the Black Sleep and the Nazgul were still fresh in their minds, following the War of the Ring. They knew such dark creatures existed in this world and the fact that it might have taken their king was nothing to be ignored. The Lady Melia had claimed that they would be provided with proof and until that was proved a falsehood, the guards were duty bound to investigate the possibility that some harm may have befallen their king.

  
"We follow your lead Prince Legolas," the leader, a man Melia recognized as Darond, the captain of the palace guards, declared firmly.

Relief flooded Melia as Legolas took charge and made their way towards the banquet hall. She looked past her and noted that Eowyn and Arwen had made their emergence from the corridor, falling in behind the soldiers that were currently on the move. The thoughts of the soldiers in their party were now firmly fixed upon the safety of the king and did not notice that their number had suddenly increased by two. It was just as well, Melia thought, for it was imperative that Arwen and Eowyn came face to the face with the imposters before the entire court of Gondor.

Only then, would  _everyone_  know the truth.

* * *

Arwen and Eowyn continued to follow the company of soldiers in their advance towards the banquet hall, remaining discreetly behind until the doors to the room appeared at the end of the corridor. However, it appeared that Akallabeth had already foreseen their possible attempt to interrupt the proceedings since there were Easterling guards taking up sentry positions. The reaction of the Gondorian guards to this was almost instantaneous and Arwen heard the unsheathing of swords as both factions prepared to meet each other in battle. She could feel the tension rippling through the men of Gondor and the sparks that were being added to a situation that could become enflamed in a matter of seconds. If either side began fighting, whatever advantage they had would be lost for the skin changers would know that their plans were in peril. Even Arwen could not be certain how they would react.

"Stand aside," Legolas declared firmly as the Easterling guards barred them from progressing forward. "You have no authority to bear arms against the guards of the king whose palace you are a guest."

"We have our orders," the Easterling called Ramariz declared firmly, aware of how tenuous his position was but unwilling to disobey Castigliari’s instructions to them. "We are to detain you here, Prince of Mirkwood."

"You have the right to detain no one," Darond, retorted sharply. "You will let us through or suffer the consequences."

"We have been told that there is treachery afoot," Ramariz held his ground for his uncertainty not quite enough to yield his position.

"We know the treachery that is a foot," Legolas persisted, gesturing to the men behind him to hold their position. "Your queen is a shape shifter and she had used this treaty to gain entry into the Citadel so that their kind can assassinate the King of Gondor."

"A shape shifter?" Ramariz stared at Legolas in disbelief.

"Enough of this," Arwen’s patience finally snapped and she pushed her way through the guards to the front. Pulling the helmet off her head, her dark hair flowed around her shoulders and drew astonished cries from everyone present.

"Queen Arwen!" Darond exclaimed as he found himself at his queen. For most of the day, he and his men had been pursuing the queen across the palace, with orders to apprehend her and all her companions at any cost. Darond like the rest of the guard could not understanding the reasoning behind the king and the steward’s vehement demand but dared not question either. An hour before the banquet was to begin the king suddenly rescinded the order against the queen and she had miraculously appeared at his side, with all sins forgiven leaving the guards confused by the whole incident. However, Darond had seen the queen within the banquet hall with the king; he had seen it with his own eyes and as far as he knew, she was still inside the room.

"How is this possible?" He mused and his confusion was mirrored on the face of his Easterling counterpart as well. "I saw you in the banquet hall but a short time ago."

"As did I," Ramariz declared with similar amazement.

"There is not much time," Arwen took the lead, deciding that it was time she stopped hiding and made her presence felt as queen of Gondor, instead of a fugitive. "Both of our peoples have been deceived by the skin changers who are now in the presence of the king. What you saw sitting at King Elessar’s right hand was not his wife but a skin changer who has every intention of killing him before the night is done. I cannot deny that this has been a strange day with the king issuing some equally strange orders in relation to my capture and incarceration but I need you to believe me, that the king is in danger and if we do not act now, it will be too late."

"She speaks the truth Darond," Legolas added his support behind Arwen’s impassioned statement. "I have seen with my own eyes the darkness that has overcome the palace."

Darond wrestled briefly with his decision for his world was one of rather black and white simplicity. The rest of what the queen said could be discerned at a later date but for him, only one thing mattered and that was the safety of his liege. Whatever else that transpired this day could be explained at a later time, however for the moment, Darond’s duty was to protect the king.

"We are at your service, your highness," Darond bowed slightly before her.

"Thank you," Arwen smiled, grateful for his faith in her words. However, she was far from done. Turning around she faced Ramariz with eyes of cold steel, speaking in a voice not quite her own and rather unnerving when coming from one so beautiful, "You will allow us to pass immediately. If you do not and any harm befalls my husband, I will swear to you that Gondor will perceive your inference as an act of war! Now stand aside!"

Ramariz was clearly shaken by the threat and unwilling to jeopardize the safety of his people especially when delivered by the queen with such ferocity. Glancing behind him briefly, he nodded at his men and took a step back in a gesture of compliance.

"You have made a wise decision," Arwen said coolly and gestured for Darond and his men to follow her.

"Now my lady, you can make another by allowing us help you," Castigliari announced himself as he appeared, having been summoned by one of his men when Legolas was first sighted.

"General," Arwen greeted, "thank you for the information you have provided."

"Perhaps you would care to explain why you have ordered your men to detain Legolas?" Eowyn asked suspiciously.

"I took the opportunity to be of assistance," Castigliari explained himself not only to Gondorians and their queen but also his own men. "Akallabeth knew that Lord Legolas had been freed of the enchantment."

"Enchantment?" Darond blinked in question.

"All will be explained in due course," Arwen remarked offhandedly before returning her attention to the general again. "Go on."

"She anticipated that you and Lord Legolas might attempt to enter the banquet hall so I volunteered my men to prevent her from assigning that task to her skin changers. I assumed that if you were going to attempt storming the banquet hall, you would have some kind of plan to do so, unless of course I have underestimated you greatly. I am still new to this idea of women possessing a military mind," he added with a little smile.

"I will not disappoint you and I would have you join us for your people are as much in jeopardy as ours," Arwen said graciously. "What plan I have, I will reveal once we are inside. The skin changers are wise and they may have planted an imposter amongst us. Unfortunately, there is no way to discern the truth for now. all you need to know is I intend to expose the skin changers in our midst. The rest will unfold later."

"Your reasoning is sound my lady," Castigliari bowed slightly in respect. "I follow your lead."

"Good," Arwen declared and resumed her journey towards the banquet room; "I think its time we join the festivities."

* * *

Akallabeth could sense something amiss.

  
It was more than just the breaking of the spell that had bound the elf Legolas Greenleaf; it was an instinct that there were forces at play of which Akallabeth was unaware. That made the skin changer nervous and watchful for danger. The celebration was starting to thin with some guests departing for the night, however there were still enough people present to ensure that the plan to deal with the ruling council of Middle earth could yet to proceed. Still, Akallabeth could not shed this feeling of uneasiness that had clawed its way into the skin changer the nearer their plan came to fruition.

If the Prince had been freed, where was he? Surely by now, he would have attempted to raise the alarm that the king’s will was no longer his own. Undoubtedly, his first move would be to reach the king and by doing so leave himself to interception by Castigliari and his men. The general had yet to return following his departure from the table to check on the progress of his men and Akallabeth could not deny being surprised that he was being of such assistance. What other choice did he have but to comply with Ulfrain’s plans? It was not as if he could usurp the authority of his king, not unless he was willing to expose the Easterling complicity in this affair.

  
The realization struck Akallabeth so sharply that the skin changer almost cursed out loud in fury. However, any exclamation made would have been lost by the sound of the banquet doors being flung open, the heavy wood slamming against the brick wall as Akallabeth’s worst fears were realized.

The crowd fell dead silent as the Evenstar stepped into the room. She was wearing the garb of a Gondorian warrior but hers was a face that could not be mistaken and as she stood before them real as life, with the lady of Ithilien in similar stead, there was no denying it. Within seconds, eyes darted between Arwen and the woman occupying the seat next to the king and there was no hiding that in appearance they were identical. Similar observations were made of the facsimile beside Lord Faramir and very soon the mood of celebration was replaced by confusion as everything descended into chaos.

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?" Aragorn demanded, anticipating the order of his master.

"Barricade the doors," Arwen ignored his demand and instructed Darond behind her. "He is not himself, he has been placed under enchantment by the Easterling queen."

"I give the orders here," Aragorn boomed, stopping the captain of his guard in his tracks. "Do nothing that she says."

"This is not the time to doubt me Darond," Arwen returned sharply. "You know that I would never harm the king but you must believe me. He is under a spell and if you do not heed my words, we will never free him of it."

Darond stared at Aragorn and Arwen, wishing this choice could be made simpler but he knew his queen almost as well as his king and she was right, Darond would never believe that Arwen would do anything to harm the king. If Prince Legolas admitted that he was slave to a skin changer’s spell then there was no reason to believe that king was any less exempt. Protecting the king did not simply charge Darond to guard his person but also his mind.

"Follow the queen’s instructions!" He ordered his men. "Barricade the doors. No one leaves this room until we discern what is happening here."

"Castigliari, you traitor!" Ulfrain hissed in fury. "How dare you!"

"How dare you?" Castigliari barked back. "I serve your father and your grandfather. Have our people not bled enough serving darkness! You would plunge us back into the same slavery we had escaped when Sauron was destroyed! I will not serve a skin changer and neither will our people! You did this without our consent and that forfeit your right to lead us! Arrest him!"

"Do nothing that he says!" Ulfrain cried out impotently but unlike Aragorn, he did not have the unswerving dedication of his men that Castigliari did.

As the doors and were slammed shut behind them, Akallabeth let out a harsh scream and it sounded like the screech of animal. Next to Aragorn, the creature that wore Arwen’s shape changed shape and suddenly, the skin changers around them were revealed in all their dark reality. With skin like the scales of a lizard and yellow eyes filled with malevolence, they glared at those assembled with vengeance.

"Kill them all!" Akallabeth screamed and leapt over the table, heading straight for Arwen.

"Lothiriel," Arwen cried out, "stay close to me!"

The girl nodded wildly at the outbreak of violence as the Easterling entourage showed their true colours and began attacking the combined forces of Gondor and the Haradirim. Despite her fear and her helplessness at being unable to join the fight, her eyes were searching for her father. However, in all the pandemonium, he was difficult to see. She clutched her satchel close and prayed that he was not hurt in this melee though it was difficult to maintain such a hope when all she could see was the clanging of swords and cries of the injured as wounds were inflicted.

Lothiriel felt useless as she saw her companions engaging the enemy, while there was little she could do to help them. Across the floor, she saw Legolas was shooting arrows with a speed that almost seemed magical. Never once did he miss his target and the wound to his leg did little to hinder just how deadly his aim could be. Skin changers were screeching in agony as the shafts of his arrows were driven deep into their bodies. Melia showed similar proficiency with her crossbow although her skill was not as honed as her husband’s. She remained close to Legolas, ensuring no one could harm him while he was releasing his deadly barrage of arrows.

Eowyn on the other hand, was in the thick of the battle, her earlier wounds proving little hindrance as she faced the skin changers with a blade in her hand. Lothiriel had never seen a woman fight with the sword and she had marveled at just how skilled the Lady of Ithilien was with it. Eowyn simply did not swing wildly but rather used her whole body to fight, as if the business of swordplay was but a small part of the combat process. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Lothiriel felt a hand around her shoulder dragging her away from Arwen. She let out a small cry but by now, Arwen was too busy dealing with Akallabeth’s impending attack to be able to assist her in any way.

"Daughter," she found herself staring at Imrahil. Her father stared at her with eyes not unlike an animal, glowing with hatred. "This is your doing isn’t it?"

"Father, please let me go!" She cried as he began dragging her away from her friends.

"You are the one who is responsible for tainting the elf’s mind!" Imrahil accused. "Only you would know the dark arts well enough!"

"Father please," she begged at a loss of what to do. She wanted to fight him but he was her  _father_  and she dared not hurt him.

"Silence!" He roared and struck her hard.

When Lothiriel felt the knuckles and the explosion of pain that followed, something inside her snapped and she knew that this man was not her father and would not be again, until  _she_  freed him. Her fingers enclosed around the wooden frame of the chair she had staggered against when he delivered his blow and steeling herself for what had to be done, Lothiriel picked it and shattered it against her father’s body. Imrahil had no time to cry as the sturdy frame crumpled around him, wooden fragments and splinters raining around his ears as he was knocked unconscious.

Lothiriel hurried to his side after she had inflicted this harm upon him, examining him quickly to ensure that he was still alive and that she had not done irreparable injury to his person. A flood of relief moved through her body knowing that he still lived and what damage she had done would heal in time. This could not go on, she decided, her gaze moving across the room to see both Aragorn and Faramir approaching Eowyn at the same time. The dwarf Gimli was hacking his way through the guards of Gondor and Harad to reach Legolas and somewhere in this chaos, Eomer was no doubt contemplating how he would serve his masters.

She had to stop this before someone was killed. She was the only one who could.

Taking a deep breath, Lothiriel reached for her satchel, knowing what she had to do.

* * *

Since this entire affair had unfolded incredibly before her eyes, the one thing she had been spared unlike Melia and Arwen, was the ordeal of facing the man she loved wearing the shackles of a skin changer’s control. Battling the skin changers was no easy matter and they changed their shape at will. One instance she was battling an Easterling dancer and at another she found herself staring at the Witch King of Angmar. Unfortunately for the skin changer, Eowyn had not been afraid of Sauron’s creature when she had faced him at Pelennor and it was no different when she was confronted with this facsimile.

However, now she faced an enemy she did not wish to confront.

Faramir stared at his wife and if it were not for the fact that his actions revealed his loyalties, Eowyn might have never have guessed that he was anything but the kind, gentle man that she had fallen in love with, the warrior with the heart of a scholar. He stared at her, sword in hand, not lifting it to fight but then he was always very different from Aragorn. Aragorn was a man who took charge of a situation immediately where else Faramir was one who took a step back and weighed alternatives before attacking. As he was doing so now.

"Are we really going to do this, my lady?" He asked her.

"I have no taste for it," Eowyn replied but her grip had not slackened around the hilt of her weapon. Over his shoulder she saw Aragorn coming towards them both and knew that she was lost if she had to fight both of them. "But I have no choice, I must defeat you to help you."

  
"I think you are mistaken on who needs aid here," Faramir stared at her with a merciless gaze that bore no trace of the man she loved.

"Please do not force me into this," Eowyn almost whispered, her heart anguished by the thought of raising a blade to him. "I do not wish to hurt you."

"You have hurt me," he retorted. "You hurt me when you chose to stand against me. I have endured your presumption in thinking yourself equal to a man, I have endured your ignorance of what place a wife is to occupy in her husband’s house and most of all I have endured you, Eowyn, who came to me after being rejected by another. Did you not think I did not know?"

"That is not true," Eowyn struggled to defend herself because she could not deny that she had once loved Aragorn.

"I am no fool," he glared at her. "I know it is the truth."

Eowyn was trying not to let his words affect her but there as always a small part of her that questioned her reason for turning to Faramir in the days following Pelennor. Had she chosen to bestow her love upon him because she loved him or because Aragorn had rejected her? Though she now loved her husband with all her heart, that tiny fragment of guilt had remained in her heart, relentless in its determination to plague her innermost thoughts.

"I love you Faramir," Eowyn gave the only answer she could under the circumstances. "Perhaps it was once true that I loved the king but it has not been that way since you entered my life. If you were in possession of your thoughts, you would know that this is true. I have adored you since the day my heart discovered you and that will not change, no matter what the poison in your mind may lead you to believe."

For an instant, it seemed as if her words affected him for his face showed his uncertainty, however the power of the enchantment was too strong for him to resist for very long.

"Yield your sword to me and I will forgive you," he said, his expression hardening once more.

Eowyn closed her eyes and drew a deep breath before she answered, "you will have to come take it from me husband."

"As you wish," Faramir replied and raised his sword to strike.

Eowyn met his blade with her own and while she found herself in the impossible situation of having to fight her husband, her instincts for self preservations came to bear and she knew that it was not in her, to endure defeat. She parried hard, watching his side step her sharp thrust before riposting in return. They matched each other blow for blow, although she was fighting not to kill him. Faramir however, had no such reservations because the shape shifter’s spell upon him had turned his wife into a mortal enemy.

"Faramir, please!" Eowyn beseeched him, aware that they were reaching a point of no return. "I do not wish to hurt you!"

"Oh Eowyn you are a delight," he sneered, smashing his blade against hers with such force that the sound of steel filled her ears before she felt his fist enclose around the hand holding her sword. Before she could wrench herself free, she was being pulled forward and suddenly, a balled fist connected with the side of her face. Stunned, she tried to recover but his grip upon her was strong and she did the only think she could, she kicked out. Her foot slammed into his knee, bringing him down in one swift movement. He had both their weapons now and Eowyn snatched the first thing she saw from a nearby table. Her own rage inspired because of the situation, Eowyn swung the pitcher across Faramir’s face. The ceramic shattered when it impacted against his skull, spraying fluid and fragments in all directions.

Faramir cursed loudly as he was temporarily blinded by the spirits in his eyes when Eowyn dropped and swung out her leg in an arch, sweeping his feet from under him and bringing him down against the floor with a loud thud. The sound of his skull against the stone made her flinch but he did not rise again. Breathing hard and fearful that she might have hurt him seriously, she rushed to his side. Fortunately, he was merely unconscious. Reaching for her weapon in his grip, she was about to pick it up when suddenly a boot came down hard against the blade, crushing against to the floor. Eowyn looked up and found herself staring at Aragorn.

"Well met my lady," he said with a little smile. "Shall we dance?"

* * *

Melia counted the number of bolts she had remaining for her crossbow and knew that eventually, she would have to find an alternate means of defending herself. Legolas who was the only person she knew capable of using the long bow in such confined surrounding had no difficulty. He never missed and thus every arrow he released met its mark. She had been covering his back while he made short work of the enemy but now Melia saw that there was someone else who had greater need of assistance than her able husband.

"Prince!" She cried out, "Eowyn needs help."

Legolas followed her gaze and saw the shield maiden of Rohan about to do battle with Aragorn. Having stood in battle with the king for longer than any human here had been alive, Legolas knew that Eowyn was outmatched and in the condition that he was in, Aragorn was perfectly capable of killing her. The prince had seen the outcome of her recent encounter with Aragorn and Legolas would not see Eowyn suffer in that manner again.

"I will deal with this," Legolas replied brushing past his wife. He was possibly the only one present capable of dealing with Aragorn in his present state.

"Are you certain?" She asked, fearful for him because she had seen Aragorn in combat and knew how ruthless he could be.

Legolas did not answer her because he was already rushing to Eowyn’s aid. Melia stared after him a moment before she heard a familiar battle cry and found herself facing a new peril.

Gimli was making short work of the Easterling guards who were uncertain how to deal with his fury of his attacks. During their quest to Nargothrond, Melia had opportunity to see the dwarf in battle and knew that his size had very little to do with ability. The axe was covered in the blood of enemies and as he swung it with expert precision, using his size to his advantage, Melia knew that without something more substantial then crossbow she was carrying, there was no way to defeat him. She did not wish to harm Gimli because Melia’s shared her husband’s affection for the dwarf but she had to stop him.

"Where is he?" Gimli glowered as he caught sight of her. "Where is that treacherous elf!"

"Master Gimli you are not yourself," Melia tried to reason with him, "unfortunately, I am not going to fight you."

"Stand aside lady," Gimli retorted. "My business is with your husband."

"I was afraid you might say that," Melia sighed and raised her crossbow. Without saying another word, she unleashed a bolt that struck the dwarf in the right shoulder, above the juncture where his arm met his body.

Gimli let out an enraged cry as his hand released his axe, allowing the heavy blade to clattered noisily to the ground. His arm hung limply at his side as he rushed towards her and Melia armed herself again, unhappy that it would require one more shot to incapacitate him. This time the steel bolt tore into the dwarf’s knee, cutting short his charge and dropping him immediately to the floor.

"Easterling witch!" He cursed as he hugged his injured leg.

"I am sorry," Melia sighed staring at the dwarf, "but you will thank me for this later."

She hoped.

* * *

Customarily, Lothiriel would have preferred to conduct her spell of unmaking under better circumstances however at this moment, it appeared her choices were limited. Crawling under a table, she hoped she could remain hidden while she attempted to carry out the spell. Despite her anxiety at attempting to perform complex invocations in such surroundings, Lothiriel was determined to free the minds of those enchanted by the shape shifter spell before more blood was spilled. Acting against her father in the manner she had done, was an experience Lothiriel would not wish upon any one. Her rage was properly provoked for being forced into such a position and her success with Legolas made her determined to free the others as well.

Laying out the ingredients she needed to carry out the spell, Lothiriel hoped she could remain unnoticed long enough to complete it. Certainly, the minute she began chanting the invocation, the skin changers could become aware of what she was up to. At this moment however, they considered her little more than a frightened child and it was this perception that kept her safe so far. The fact that they had no suspicion that she was the one carrying out the spell ensured that Lothiriel would be able to perform this latest feat of conjuring without interference.

Now that everything was in place, she closed her eyes and began to recite the words, determined to end this nightmare once and for all. However, her chant was cut short as the table above her was flung aside and Lothiriel realized that nightmare was just beginning when standing before her was Eomer.

* * *

Upon seeing Aragorn before her, Eowyn gave up any thought of retrieving her weapon and scrambled away from the king, determined to gain a precious few seconds so that she could think of a way to best defend herself. Her last encounter with Aragorn had taught Eowyn one thing; he was the superior warrior. It did not mean that she was any less a person but Aragorn had become who he was in legend and in history because of his skills. She admired him for what he was and knew that he was a strong force of nobility and courage in a world that needed such qualities desperately. The spell had turned all that purity into a thing of darkness and she hated the skin changers for that most of all.

"Lady Eowyn," Legolas Greenleaf appeared from behind her, "stand aside."

As much as Eowyn wanted to fight her own battles, in this instance she had no choice but to withdraw. It would be trial enough facing Aragorn on her own without the added burden of trying not to hurt him seriously when he was not bound by such considerations. If anyone could match the king and possibly defeat him without permanent harm, then it was Legolas. Eowyn was grateful for his interference though she did not envy him having to face his best friend in battle. She turned her back upon both of them and caught sight of something that sent her running.

* * *

"You would fight me Legolas?" Aragorn stared hard at the prince after Eowyn had left them.

"I would fight you to save you from yourself Aragorn," Legolas said fearlessly. He had picked up Faramir’s sword and held it up in readiness to fend off any attack from Aragorn.

"I am completely myself old friend," Aragorn returned, "it is you who are not yourself. The Legolas I knew would never stand against me in a fight."

"The Aragorn I know would never willingly draw his sword against a lady," Legolas returned coolly, "or strike one as you have. It is not your way to be a brutalizer of women Aragorn. Deep inside of you, you must know that."

  
"I know nothing except my friend is betraying me!" Aragorn hissed but his anger seemed provoked by Legolas’ words, as if what the prince had said had struck too close to home. Legolas blocked the strike easily and kicked out, landing the ball of his foot squarely against Aragorn’s sternum. The king reeled backwards and Legolas took the offensive, using his elven reflexes to gain the advantage. Even injured, he was still a match for Aragorn.

"I would never betray you Aragorn," Legolas swung his blade at the king who barely had time to block the blade. "You and I have faced things together these past sixty years than most could never even dream in a life time. We owe each other our lives, a dozen times over! Do you honestly think that I would betray you? I stood by you when you were a Ranger and I stand by you still, while you are king. We have battled the forces of darkness together Aragorn! If I have a brother in this world, it would surely be you."

"Be quiet!" Aragorn hissed and there was a hint of desperation in his voice as he made that demand, as if he were pleading for Legolas to stop. Anduril was swinging wildly before him "You are trying to confuse me! Just like Arwen!"

"She loves you!" Legolas returned. "How can you even question that? Do you have any idea what she sacrificed to love you? Think Aragorn! Fight the blackness in your heart that makes you think that she could ever raise a finger against you!"

"I will not listen to you!" Aragorn cried out again but the cracks in his voice were beginning to reveal themselves.

Legolas’ words had far more effect upon the king than his blade. Legolas could see Aragorn struggling against the spell’s hold upon him. However, whether or not the king was strong enough to break the enchantment was another thing entirely.

* * *

"Melia!" Eowyn shouted across the room, capturing the attention of the former Ranger who was tending to Gimli’s wound and ensuring that he posed no danger to himself or anyone else, following their confrontation.

The battle was slowly tipping in the favor of the guards fighting valiantly to purge both their respective kingdoms of the skin changer menace. However casualties were mounting and the floor of the banquet hall, which only hours ago had been a place of celebration was now littered with bodies of both enemy and ally. Still, none of the blood spilled by Gondor or Harad would mean anything if the minds of their leaders were still enslaved by Akallabeth’s spell. Until now, the skin changers had no idea who it was had thwarted their hold over Legolas Greenleaf and in their unknowing, could not act against the spell caster who had the power to destroy their plans. Unfortunately, as Eowyn hurried towards her brother, standing over Lothiriel, it appeared that it was a secret no more.

"Eomer!" Eowyn shouted, taking his attention away from her brother as she flung herself at him.

Both siblings tumbled to the floor, with Lothiriel clearly shaken by her discovery. As Eomer reeled from his hard landing, Eowyn looked over her shoulder and discerned quickly what Lothiriel had been planning to do.

"Keep going!" She ordered as her body covered Eomer’s, both hands pinning his shoulders to the floor. "Melia, protect her!"

"No one will get past me!" Melia declared as she reached Lothiriel and took up position to guard the girl or die trying. Her crossbow was armed and ready while her eyes watchful of the danger. "Do as she says!" Melia retorted, "continue the spell!"

Lothiriel nodded and shook her head to clear herself of all thoughts that might distract her from her purpose. She used the image of Eomer and the menace she had seen in his eyes to strengthen her resolve and focus herself. Lothiriel was determined to free him. She wanted him back the way he was. She wanted back the man who had sworn never to force her into anything, who made her laugh and accepted her as more than just a beauty or a prize but as a person with dreams of her own. Since that moment, Lothiriel had felt her heart slowly succumbing to him and though she would not claim to love him just yet, she was not far away from it either.

Hardening herself against the distractions around her, Lothiriel resumed her invocation of the spell. She knew the words by memory alone and as she poured heart and soul into its recital, she felt the stirrings of power. It coursed through her veins like an elixir warming her body as her words became more fevered. Burst of energy cackled throughout the room, leaving a stench in its wake that was not unlike the embers from a spirited fireplace. She could see the threads before her, faint, filament looking things, not unlike the webs spun by spiders. In her mind’s eye, they began to tighten, as if an unseen hand was pulling at it.

Across the banquet hall, Lothiriel was not the only one who could feel it.

* * *

"Let me up!" Eomer demanded, struggling hard as Eowyn did everything that she could to keep her brother pinned to the ground. However, he was not only bigger than her but also far stronger and her attempts to keep him restrained were faltering with each effort he made to break free.

"No!" Eowyn shouted, struggling hard to keep him down but the exercise was exhausting and he was almost frenzied in his desperation to be rid of her. "You are a danger to everyone around you!"

"The only danger is that witch!" Eomer barked. "She will kill us all with her dark magic!"

"Better dead than leave you in this condition," Eowyn retorted, feeling as if she were astride a rather uncooperative stallion.

Unfortunately, Eomer did not seem to agree and threw his head back sharply, connecting with Eowyn’s lower jaw. The blow stunned Eowyn momentarily, allowing her brother to throw her off his body. Eowyn tumbled to the floor and saw Eomer quickly getting to his feet. By now, every shape shifter in the room was aware of what Lothiriel was doing and like Eomer, were attempting to reach the young lady of Dol Amroth. Melia was unleashing her bolts at every one of the creatures who attempted to interrupt the young woman while she conducted the spell.

"EOMER!" Eowyn shouted as she ran after him.

"Stay out of this sister!" Eomer warned, shooting her a scathing glare as he did so.

"I am afraid I cannot!" Eowyn wrapped her arms around his chest and pulled back. Eomer swore in outrage before propelling himself against the wall. Eowyn saw the wall rushing towards her and could do nothing but release her hold of him. Her sharp drop interfered his ungainly retreat and they both toppled over in an unruly tangle of limbs.

Eowyn braced herself to resume their fight when suddenly, Eomer rolled onto his back and began screaming.

* * *

Throughout the banquet hall, the room began to fill with the sound of screaming. Agonized cries of pain exceeded the sounds of battle and while some still battled, others looked about them in confusion. Even Imrahil and Faramir who had been unconscious were driven to wakefulness by the pain that coursed through them. Gimli who was bound, struggled against his ropes as he was visited by agony far greater than the injuries sustained during his confrontation with Melia.

Legolas stared at Aragorn who was on his knees, resisting the need to scream because even when he was under the power of a shape shifter, there was a part of him that would always remain Aragorn and that part loathed to admit weakness. Legolas could see his face contorting with excruciating pain, biting down while it coursed through his body as the spell of unmaking exerted itself upon him. Anduril had fallen out of his grip and eventually the white-hot agony tore the scream from him that Aragorn had fought so hard not to utter.

Legolas was torn between rushing to his friend’s aid and letting the spell carry out its purpose. He remembered little of how the spell had released him since the memory of his enslavement was an uncertain fog in his mind. His eyes swept across the room and saw the rest of his friends enduring similar torment. Eowyn was standing over her brother, her lovely face showing her anguish at seeing him in such a state. Gimli was lying on his back, writhing in agony as the spell did its worst and Legolas shared Eowyn’s feeling of helplessness.

Suddenly, Aragorn convulsed and with a tremendous heave, expelled something dark and fetid from the pit of his stomach. It spilled out of him like blood, escaping his mouth and creating a foul puddle on the floor beneath his lips. This grisly scene was repeated across the room as Faramir, Imrahil, Gimli and Eomer were similarly freed. Lothiriel fell forward on her hands and knees, barely able to keep from being rendered unconscious after the tremendous strain she had just endured to complete the spell. Legolas could see rivulets of blood running down her nose and was glad to see Melia tending to the young woman.

"Aragorn," Legolas went to his friend’s side after long last.

Aragorn, amazingly enough, was still lucid. He was on all fours, breathing hard like an animal that had been chased across the world.

"Aragorn," the prince dropped to one knee beside the king. "Are you alright?"

Aragorn’s body was trembling in the wake of being released from that terrible spell but slowly, he raised his head and peered at Legolas through the tendrils of sweat drenched hair….

* * *

 

"Evenstar!" Akallabeth said the word like the snarl from a crazed animal.

Arwen and the former Easterling queen battled each other in a duel that seemed to go on forever. Akallabeth was determined to kill her, blaming Arwen for all the misfortunes that had befallen the race of skin changers since the destruction of Glaurung at Nargothrond. The skin changer’s tactic was to change shape often and Arwen found herself facing a multitude of villains, from orcs to Nazgul. It had even taken on the form of Elrond at one point of the battle, trying to confuse her.

However, Arwen kept her wits about her and despite her focus on the enemy, she could see the other skin changers around them falling to the sword of Easterling and Gondorian soldiers, not to mention her own companions. The skin changers were slowly being defeated and now with the completion of Lothiriel’s spell of unmaking, their plans to take over Middle earth lay in ruins. Unfortunately, Akallabeth was not about to concede defeat, without first exacting a bloody display of spite.

"Twice you have brought ruin to my people!" Akallabeth hissed while breathing hard like a panting animal.

"Your people deserve nothing less!" Arwen retaliated with just as much venom. "You serve the darkness and you seek to turn that which is not bathed in evil to stink as vilely as you do. You think I was going to let Glaurung destroy my child before he was even born? Do you think that I would allow you to ruin the peace so many had shed in blood to build!"

"It is a peace you will never enjoy!" Akallabeth screamed. "My people may be defeated after this day but I intend to see that you die with us!"

Arwen wasted no time and swung her blade at the creature who leapt backwards to avoid the swing with surprising agility. The shape of the beast altered again and instead of facing another face from the past, Arwen now found herself standing in front of a snarling warg, with fangs bared and ready to tear her apart. The beast glared at her with yellow eyes and retreated one step in order to make a running leap before pouncing on her. There was barely enough time for Arwen to raise her sword before it sprang like a coiled serpent.

  
The weight of its landing against her body sent Arwen reeling backwards. She barely managed to maintain her grip upon her sword. Hitting her head hard against the stone floor as she fell, Arwen felt a wave of disorientation as she reeled from the impact. However, there was no time for her to recover because she could smell its fetid breath against her neck. She blinked in time to see its teeth coming for her throat and smashed the hilt of her sword against its flank. The beast howled loudly and Arwen took advantage of its pain to throw the skin changer from her body. She got to her knees in time to see creature scrambling to its feet, preparing to launch itself at her in a renewed assault.

  
"Prepare to meet your doom she elf!" The unholy voice of Akallabeth escaped the warg’s mouth before it pounced again.

Arwen prepared to meet the creature with her sword when suddenly, another blade sliced through the air and pierced the flank of the creature. The blade forged in the elvish way continued its forceful drive, burying itself to the hilt within the coarse pelt and emerging through the opposite flank of the beast. A final, agonized shriek tore through the air before the creature fell against the stone in a sickening crunch of sound. Blood splattered in all directions upon impact and in death, the shape of the warg melted away to that of the skin changer’s true form.

"Undomiel," Arwen recovered enough to hear her name being called.

  
She looked up and saw Aragorn standing before her, his expression one of exhaustion and weariness. It was an effort for him to even remain standing. Upon meeting her eyes, Aragorn outstretched his hand towards her.

"I do not deserve you wife," he said in short, exhausted breaths.

Arwen thought her heart might break from relief as she took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace. Only when Aragorn’s wrapped his arms around her and held her close, did Arwen find the strength enough to speak.

"I am glad you are aware of this," she whispered, relishing the feel of being in his arm once again. "You have no idea what I have endured this day for you."

"How could I forget?" he swallowed and Arwen could feel his tears against her skin. "You are all that is precious in my life, I would rather die than hurt you. I wished I could have, to spare you my sins this day."

"You remember?" She looked at him, not expecting that.

"No," he shook his head. "But I can feel it. I can still what their poison made me do." There was anger in his eyes but there also intense sorrow.

Arwen looked at her husband and knew though he was responsible for nothing that transpired this day and could barely remember what he had done, he would not be free of it for a long time.

Perhaps Akallabeth had revenge after all.


	10. Guilt

 

When Lothiriel regained consciousness, she did so possessing the worst headache imaginable.  

Through the pounding in her head, she could hear the distant voice of Melia asking somewhat anxiously if she was all well. It took a few moments before she recovered her senses enough to answer the woman. Dazed, Lothiriel opened her eyes and lifted her gaze to see the former ranger kneeling at her side with an expression of concern on her face. She did not realise that Melia had repeated herself several times already and was growing more apprehensive by her continued lack of response. 

“Lothiriel!” Melia took a more direct approach this time, since nothing else was rousing the girl out of her unconscious state, and took to shaking her slightly.  “Please speak!” 

“I am unhurt,” the young woman finally muttered, acknowledging the ranger’s question finally and drawing an corresponding sigh of relief from Melia as she added further,  “my head feels as if it is ready to fall away my neck but I suffer nothing that will not heal in time.” 

“That is good to know,” Melia sighed, clearly relieved by Lothiriel’s ability to speak for herself.   There was a streak of blood running down Lothiriel’s nose, which had heightened Melia’s fears for her safety after the conjuring of such a complex spell.   She had put herself at considerable risk to accomplish her role in their plan and Melia did not wish to see her hurt after such a feat of courage. 

“Did it work?” Lothiriel asked abruptly suddenly remembering that they had been in the midst of a battle when she had fallen unconscious. The fog over her brain had lifted over her mind and Lothiriel was quick to realise that she was uncertain at whether or not her spell was successful. 

Melia’s gaze shifted away from the young lady of Dol Amroth and came to rest upon Arwen and Aragorn locked in a tight embrace where it appeared as if they might never let go. The king and queen seemed to be in a world of their own as they held each other close with Arwen burying her face in the crook of Aragorn’s shoulder.  Melia had no doubt that at this moment, the events of the past few hours were overcoming the queen and she was drawing what comfort she could from her husband’s arms.   

Melia herself felt the urge to find Legolas who was directing the Gondorian soldiers to remove the dead skin changers from the hall. She would do so once she was certain that Lothiriel was all right.  After all, none of this would be possible if it had not been for the young woman’s ability to weave magic. 

“Yes, it worked,” she smiled turning back to Lothiriel. “It worked wonderfully.” 

Lothiriel stared at Melia and saw the ranger’s admiration for her and felt a surge of emotion coursing through her.  Finally, she had conjured a spell that had worked! What was more had helped them all in a time of crisis. Even if nothing she ever conjured after this day went as it was meant to, Lothiriel was happy that for a brief moment of time, she had been a true mistress of magic.  

“I am so glad,” she replied, blinking back the tears of happiness. “I was so afraid I would fail you all.” 

“You are remarkable Lothiriel,” Melia smiled touching her cheek, “and if I have to beg Pallando myself, I will do everything I can to see that you have your lessons in magic.” 

“Thank you,” Lothiriel swallowed and then remembered something else, “my father!” 

The young woman immediately scrambled to her feet with far more speed then Melia thought her capable of in her condition.  She hurried to Imrahil who was being helped to his feet by Captain Darond.  He was still unconscious from her attack and Lothiriel prayed that she had not injured her in her efforts to escape him earlier. 

“Why does my father not awaken?” she demanded frantically. 

“My lady, he is but merely concussed I suspect,” Darond explained as another soldier held the girl back so that they could take the Prince of Dol Amroth to the house of healing to be treated for his injuries.  “Let us take him to the house of healing and see to it that he is tended. I promise you, he will be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” She stared at the captain of the guard, almost imploringly.  “I could not bear it if I was responsible for harming him.”

”My lady you freed him,” Darond answered, aware now that it was Lothiriel who had broken the terrible enchantment over the king and the ruling council of Middle earth.  “I think that even if you were responsible for his being in this state, he would be proud and grateful nonetheless.”  
Lothiriel smiled gratefully at the soldier but chose to withdraw so that he and the others could take her father to be treated for his wounds.  Besides, there was one other person here that worried her almost as much as her father, though her feelings for him were of an entirely different nature.  She searched the banquet, moving past the destruction of the battle and the carnage of those left behind in its wake to see Eomer sitting up shakily.  He appeared rather dazed, although the grimace he produced a short time later indicated that he was suffering exhaustion and lingering pain from his violent ejection of Akallabeth’s poison from inside him. 

She approached him cautiously; uncertain at how she was to approach him. Her first impulse was to be at his side as Eowyn was with Faramir, coaxing her husband from his unconscious state, however their relationship was too new for such a forward display of affection.   She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, wishing to do something to help because he appeared so very exhausted.  His face was covered in a fine sheet of sweat and his hands were still shaking from the pain he had been forced to endure in the wake of the spell. 

“Lord Eomer,” Lothiriel announced herself before him, “you should come with me to the house of healing.  You have suffered a terrible ordeal.” 

“What has happened here?” Eomer asked, his eyes searching the banquet hall and finding no answers, only mystifying scenes of a battle on a day that was supposed to be a celebration of peace. 

“It will take too long to explain,” she dared coming closer to him. “I would see you to the house of healing before I attempt to explain it to you.” 

“I have no doubt,” he replied softly, seeing Melia and Legolas helping Gimli to his feet. The dwarf was bleeding and appeared to be rather disgruntled by the fact that he was injured but having no memory of the fight that caused it.  “I had a terrible dream I cannot remember but its memory fills me with unease. I feel as if I have disappointed you though I don’t understand how.” 

“It is a dream ended,” Lothiriel smiled as she basked in his gaze upon her. If anything told her that all was well, it was the effect of that penetrating gaze upon her.   “You are here with me now and what is done was not your fault. You could not disappoint me if you tried, my king. You have not disappointed me since you entered my life.” 

“I think I am rather confused by this show of affection but I am not complaining,” he stared at her with a brow raised. He was not so fatigued that he could not react in surprise to the emotion he saw in her eyes, emotion that was real and for  _him_.  The realisation of it made his breath catch in his throat though his heart was suddenly beating a good deal faster. 

“We have plenty of time to talk about what has transpired and perhaps we will talk about our future together as well.  I think if you are agreeable, I should like to know you further, my king.” Lothiriel replied with a little smile and was impulsively emboldened enough to brush her lips gently against his. 

He was so surprised that at first he did not register the kiss but when the silken lips touched his, Eomer’s senses awakened enough to return the gesture and his head spun at how wonderful she tasted. Their kiss was only for a fraction of time but it was enough for Eomer to know that the elusive feeling he had sought, the one so envied when seen between his sister and her husband, was filling his veins with its tonic. 

“I think I should like that very much, lady of Dol Amroth,” Eomer smiled and allowed her to help him to his feet, having this strange feeling that she was going to be at his side a great deal more in the future. 

* * *

Eowyn saw Eomer and Lothiriel engaging in their moment together and felt a warm feeling suffuse her being knowing that her brother was at last finding the happiness he deserved. She regarded Faramir, whose head was cradled in her lap as she dabbed gently the wound she had inflicted upon him during the battle.  He was not quite conscious yet but the gentle feel of cool water upon his injury was rapidly bringing him out of his slumber.  She was grateful that he would be robbed of the memory of what had happened because his behaviour was borne out of Akallabeth’s evil spell.  She knew her husband well and it would prey on him deeply what he had done.  She knew that it would almost certainly be the case for Aragorn.

Eowyn bore no malice for the king even though her broken ribs still ached and the bruises he had inflicted on him would be difficult to hide.  She knew the kind of man Aragorn was and even if he was not himself when he hurt her, he would no doubt feel responsible.  Fortunately, Eowyn’s confrontation with Faramir was nowhere that brutal although she had a new found respect for both her husband and her king after facing them in battle.  She had always known that Faramir was a great warrior but until she fought him herself, had not realised just how formidable he was.

She felt him shift in her lap and paused her gentle dabbing immediately.  His head had been tilted to the side allowing her access but soon he faced forward and met her gaze. His eyes showed his disorientation was rapidly passing as his brows furrowed in concern.

”What has happened to your face?” He asked as his focus allowed him to see the bruises on his wife’s lovely skin. 

“It is a long story,” she smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face in affection, not realising until this moment how good it was to have him look at her with love. 

“Give me the abridged version,” he said firmly, not about to be deterred when he was faced with such injuries to the woman he loved. 

Eowyn sighed, “Faramir, this is not the time.” 

Faramir forced himself to sit up and noted for the first time that he was extremely weak and that his head was throbbing in pain. An exploratory feel behind the back of his skull proved that he had been involved in some kind of incident and when he looked around the banquet hall, noting the bodies that were being cleared away and the wreckage within the room, he guessed that it might well be a long story. 

“Are those skin changers they are taking away?” He stared at her in question as he saw the guards removing corpses. 

“Yes,” she nodded, smiling at him as he bombarded her with questions.  Her heart was warm with delight because this was her husband, a warrior with the heart of a scholar who was  _always_  filled with questions. 

Faramir’s brow knotted once more at another realisation, “We were drinking a toast to the treaty.” 

“It was a very a bad toast,” Eowyn replied sweeping her eyes around the floor, “this is the result.” 

“Legolas did not get drunk and recite his poetry again, did he?” Faramir asked. “That alone could put us at war with the Easterlings.”

Eowyn laughed slightly, aware that her husband often used humour to hide his anxiety at situations where he was uncertain or fearful.  It was a dry sardonic wit that Eowyn herself shared which was why they loved each other so much.  

“I love you, you know,” she said after giving him a long and thoughtful look. 

“I love you too but I would like to know what has happened here,” Faramir stared back at her.  “I did not do that to you did I?” He asked hesitantly, fearful of her answer. 

“No,” she shook her head in answer. 

“Then why do I feel like I almost lost you?” He replied, clearly troubled by the feelings that were emerging inside him despite his lack of memory.  “I feel my heart beating as if you and I were in some great peril that has now passed.” 

“We were,” she could not lie to him about that. “But it has passed and you are mine again.” 

For the first time since this all began, she allowed the tough mask to slip from her face and the full torrent of emotion at having her love returned to her, the way she always knew him, made her eyes glisten with tears.  

“There was never really any doubt of that my lady,” Faramir answered, sweeping her body into an embrace because she suddenly seemed to need one. 

“I know,” Eowyn whispered as she allowed herself to be taken into his arms. “It is just nice to know.” 

* * *

After Legolas had allowed Melia and a guard to see Gimli to the house of healing, the Prince of Mirkwood sought out the Easterling general.  During the course of the battle, he had lost sight of Castigliari whose main concern at the time was the arrest of his king Ulfrain.  When the skin changers had exposed themselves and the room had descended into the pandemonium of battle, Castigliari had vanished from sight and Legolas hoped that he had survived the conflict unharmed.  Dealing with Castigliari as the leader of the Haradirim would be less arduous then dealing with Ulfrain’s whose deception would make the continued alliance difficult to maintain. 

He found Castigliari near the door to the banquet hall, standing around a body with the remains of the guards.  Before Legolas reached him, the elf had some idea of what had transpired if the looks of grim disquiet on their faces were any indication. His suspicion was confirmed when he saw Ulfrain’s body lying on the floor, his life’s blood pooled under him.  The Easterling king was staring into nothingness as the gaping wound in his chest revealed the reason for his demise. 

Castigliari looked up at Legolas’ approach and the prince could see the general sincere anguish that circumstances had brought them to this point in time. 

”He refused to yield his sword,” Castigliari said quietly, “he gave no other choice.” 

“I am sorry,” Legolas placed a hand on the man’s shoulder in some effort to comfort him. However, Castigliari was a soldier who had served a king for most of his life.  Being forced to turn against that conditioning was not easy to do and even worse when forced into a situation such as the one that faced him when Ulfrain threw in his lot with the skin changers. 

“I served his father for most of his life and I prayed that the son would be equal to him but I was so terribly wrong.  When he chose to bring Akallabeth with him to Minas Tirith, I knew something was wrong because it was not usually done.  We leave our women at home, especially the queen, when we are venturing into lands that were once enemy territory.  He was so insistent and I thought foolishly, that it was because she was so beautiful that he could not bear to be without her.  I was so wrong.” 

“It is not your fault General,” Ramariz spoke up, “you did what had to be done. You saved our people from another dark menace.” 

“What will you do now?” Legolas asked, not referring simply to the king’s body. 

Castigliari let out a deep sigh, thinking of the long journey home and the consequences of all this that awaited them there, “we will return home with our king.” 

This declaration was met with approval from the rest of the Easterlings who nodded in agreement or murmured their support of the general’s plan.  Legolas hoped the treaty was not in tatters after all the work they had expended making it become a reality.  Despite Ulfrain’s dark intentions, the notion of a treaty had been a good one and Legolas hoped that Aragorn’s hard work was not left in ruins in the wake of this deception. 

“I know these are shallow words in the wake of this tragedy but the treaty between the Easterlings the Westernese was a good one that should continue despite Ulfrain’s ulterior motives. It is time that the race of men come together for mutual benefit.  Too long, have your peoples existed apart and has led to war and destruction for both sides. Please do not let the dream of peace die because of Ulfrain’s deception.” 

Castigliari nodded and met Legolas’ gaze following that impassioned plea from what he had considered a rather mercurial elf, “if it is all possible that some good comes of this, I will see it done by my life and my honour.” 

“I am glad to hear that,” Legolas replied with a smile and hope that things did indeed come to pass as they hoped.  

The Haradirim and the rest of the Easterling people were mysteries that were suddenly becoming familiar to them and one thing was clear after this affair with the skin changers, was that they were not all that different from the race of men that Legolas was familiar with. Given time and empathy that Aragorn had tried so hard to show, it might be possible to one day consider them friends, not merely uneasy allies. 

* * *

In the wake of the celebration, only the palace knew of the affair that had almost broken the kingdoms of Middle earth.  Following the battle, the skin changers were removed from the presence of the court, taken outside the walls of Citadel and burned.  It was possible that some escaped but it was impossible to tell for certain since there was so much pandemonium during the course of the fighting and it was easy enough for one or two to slip away unseen.  That was after all, their specific talent, to blend into the background and disappear. 

The Easterlings chose not to remain long in the palace of the Gondorian king and took little more than a day to organise themselves before they were ready for departure.  Despite his treachery, the body of Ulfrain was treated for the journey back to Harad where he would be the afforded the ceremonial funeral for a head of state.  Castigliari had felt that that it was the least he could do to honour the memory of the father by giving the son a proper burial. However, he could not promise how the news of what transpired in Minas Tirithwould be received in Harad.  What made things even more uncertain was the fact that Ulfrain had left no heir and Castigliari suspected that his people were due for some difficult times while a clear line of succession could be established. 

The general himself had no wish for power for he was still in essence, a soldier. 

Within a few days of their departure, the king’s men accompanied by Legolas was able to find Nunaur and Ioreth on their way to East Lorien and inform them that the danger to the throne was no more.  With steadfast assurances that his mind was his own and with Nunaur still vary until the march warden was standing face to face with the Evenstar, the group returned to Minas Tirith with Eldarion. The two travellers had done well in keeping the little prince safe, having left the White City by way of the Anduin and remaining on its waters to avoid detection from agents of Akallabeth. 

Arwen was delighted to have her child back in her arms and her son seemed equally pleased to return to his mother. His safe return brought a smile from his father’s face though it did not remain for long.  Unfortunately, it would take more than Eldarion’s safety to assuage Aragorn’s guilt over what had happened.  

Since he had regained his senses, Aragorn had descended into a pit of melancholy that was very unlike him and of a kind that Arwen had never seen before.  Arwen had known Aragorn for almost sixty years when he had first cast his eyes upon her and thought that she was a dream of Luthien. She knew all his moods and it pained her to see him this way.  What had taken place was not his fault and though she tried hard to convince him of this fact, the king would not absolve himself of his culpability. 

He had taken to locking himself in his study, seeing no one as he came to terms with his guilt but after two weeks of such behaviour, Arwen had reached the end of her patience.  She knew that Imrahil was feeling similar feelings towards his daughter but was consoled by the fact that she did not blame him and had skill enough to save not only her father but all the leaders of Gondor.  Faramir had spent every moment at Eowyn’s side, revelling in each other’s company as if they were newlyweds again in an effort to make it up to his wife for his behaviour.  The same could be said for Legolas and Melia.  The lord and lady of Eden Ardhon were also busy playing chaperone to Lothrieil and Eomer whose affection for each other was growing intensely, when they were not checking to see Gimli’s progress in the house of healing that is. 

Arwen entered the study and found her king exactly where she had left him, in his chair staring out the window but seeing nothing but his own guilt at his conduct.  She let out a heavy sigh and knew that she had to do something even if it would most likely end with them screaming at each other.  She supposed screaming was a better alternative then watching him eat himself away with guilt. 

“This sulking does not become you Estel,” she remarked as she stood before him. 

“I do not sulk,” he muttered, unable to meet her gaze when she made the accusation. 

“Then what would you call it?” She demanded.

”I am reflecting on things,” he answered her feebly. “I need to evaluate my conduct in this business.” 

“Your conduct was not at fault,” she pointed out. “You were under a spell, a spell I might add affected everyone else in the room with you.” 

“I am king,” he stared at her sharply, some measure of fire returning to his voice at that statement. “I could have destroyed the whole of Middle earth because I could not fight that terrible spell.” 

“Yes you are king,” she changed her position so that he would have to look directly at her because Arwen intended to have this out once and for all. “However, the last time I looked upon you, I was fairly certain that you were a man as well and if I am not mistaken, men are not invincible.” 

“That is not an excuse Undomiel!” He stood abruptly and brushed past her and went to the window, “I almost had you killed!” 

“Yes you did,” Arwen could not deny that. “But it was not you who gave that order, it was a skin changer who bore me a great deal of malice after what transpired at Nargothrond, a skin changer who used a spell to bend your will to hers. I do not blame you for that Estel. If I did, I would not have gone through what I did to see you returned to me.” 

Aragorn turned to her and she saw the depth of his remorse by the pained expression on his face, “I hurt you Undomiel, I hurt you and I almost allowed our son to be used as a hostage to creature of darkness and evil.  I saw what I did to Eowyn; I could have killed her with my bare hands! If Melia had not interrupted me, I might have!” 

“Aragorn!” Arwen took his face in her hands when he started to rant. “It is not your fault. Eowyn holds you no more responsible than I do.  It was a spell! Do you think we know it in our hearts that you are capable of acting in such a manner? Please,” she begged, her eyes filling with tears because it tore at her heart to see him in such anguish. “Do not let Akallabeth win this way.” 

“I feel it inside me,” he said softly, his voice beginning to crack. “The terrible things that I did though I can’t remember. It is not a pleasant thing to know that if you do not have control of yourself, you can unleash a monster.” 

“You could never be that,” she replied. “You are the noblest man I have ever known, who is a king not only by title or bloodline but by heart. Can you not see it in the eyes of those who follow you? When you speak to them of freedom, they knew that it is not merely words to you but truth and that is what inspires all our faith in you.  This is hard for you my love because of the man you are, it would not be so if you were anything else. Yours is the heart of a healer and I think it is that part of you that cannot bear knowing that you would willingly hurt someone in cold malice.” 

He blinked hard and when he did, she saw the tears in his eyes and knew that something she said penetrated the wall of grief he had surrounded himself. She went to her husband and took him in her arms as he begun to release the pent up grief he had held inside him for the past weeks. Arwen felt Aragorn’s body heaving against hers as he let go of his guilt and thought that she could not love him more then when he was willing to open himself up to her in such a manner.

She did not know how long she held him in her embrace as he purged himself of the hurt he had felt the last fortnight over things he had little control over but when he was done, Arwen looked into Aragorn’s eyes and knew that he would begin to heal now. 

“You are too good to me,” he said composing himself.

”Only because you deserve the best,” she teased and was pleasured by the smile that crossed his lips. 

“I suppose everything will turn out all right in the end,” he sighed, deciding that she was right. He could wallow in self-pity for only so long.  His kingdom needed their king and it was time he remembered that. 

“It has already,” she answered. “Eomer is returning to Rohan and it appears that Eowyn will accompany him.”

”Oh?” He stared at her in question. “Why?” 

“I think Eomer would like Eowyn to be a chaperone because Lothiriel will be journeying with him,” Arwen said with a little smile of pleasure. 

“Imrahil must be extremely pleased with himself,” Aragorn commented. 

“You have no idea how much,” Arwen chuckled. “And I think they really feel something for each other.” 

“I am glad,” Aragorn said feeling genuinely happy for Eomer.  The king of the Mark deserved to find someone exceptional to share his kingdom and his heart, just as Aragorn had done when Arwen agreed to be his wife. 

Suddenly the door knocked and after Aragorn had bid the caller to enter, saw Faramir walking toward them with a grim expression on his face. 

“What is it?” Aragorn tensed, all traces of his earlier vulnerabilities discarded as the persona of Aragorn Elessar, King of the Reunified Kingdom returned in full force. 

“We just received a message from Harad,” Faramir replied, appearing a little pale and the sight of him made Arwen’s breath shorten. 

Aragorn stared briefly at Faramir before he took the parchment from the Steward’s hand and unrolled it so that he could peruse its contents. Within seconds of doing so, his jaw tightened and Arwen was assaulted by a terrible sense of dread.  When Aragorn looked up at her, she was certain she saw the blood had drained from his face. 

“Castigliari is dead,” he stated stonily. 

“What?” Arwen exclaimed in shock. “How?”

“He was executed for high treason for the murder of Ulfrain. Apparently, the Easterling leaders did not think the general had the right to kill him before bringing proof of his treachery home.” 

Arwen thought of the good man who had helped them free Gondor and felt her heart ache with sorrow at his end. He deserved better. “That poor man,” she whispered softly.

”That is not all that,” Aragorn replied and met Faramir’s eyes with the same grim expression. “The people of Harad consider Castigliari’s actions as being influenced by Gondor and thus have rallied the rest of the Easterling nations.” 

“For what purpose?” Arwen was almost afraid to ask. 

“To launch a campaign against the Reunified Kingdom and all its allies,” Faramir spoke before Aragorn could, unable to believe that things had deteriorated so badly. 

“It appears Undomiel,” Aragorn met her eyes and said with unnerving finality, “that we are at war.”

 

**THE END**


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